
Class /T^yX 

Book q cT^ 

CoEyiight>l° 



COPlfRlGHT DEPOSrr 



a) 



GENERAL GRANT'S 
LAST DAYS 



GENERAL GRANT'S 
LAST DAYS 



GEORGE E. SHRADY, M.D. 

ONE OK HIS CONSULTING SURGEONS 



WITH A SHORT BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH OF 
DR. SHRADY 




NEW YORK 
PRIVATEIA PRINTED 

1908 



LIBRARY of CONGRESS 
Two Copies Received 

DEC 26 1S08 

OopjTlunt Entry 
CLASS CC- l^Xc. No, 



Copyright. igoS, by 
Thh Cknti rv C". 



Copyriglit. 1908. by 
Mrs. George F. Shrady 



LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 



( leoriL^r !■'. Shra(l\. .M.I) l-rdiilisl^irci- 

Juliii llaiu-nck Dduyia-. .M.D <J 

licnr\ 1'.. SaiiiK, .M.D 13 

I'ordyci- llarkcr. .M.I) IJ 

'Vhr ])aix-nts i>t ( IciK-ral I 'ly>sc> S. ( iraiil -'() 

Ulysses S. ( irant. gramlsdii i)f ( 'n.-iKTal l*. S. (iranl 2t, 

T^icutcnaiit I'lysscs S. (irant, ['. ^. .\. ( i,'ranilsnn nf ( Icncral (iranl 1. when a 

radet at West Point -"; 

Facsimile of ( ieneral (irant's letter, asking the appnintment of his grandson to 
^\'e-t I'oint, with the indorsements of (ieneral Sherman and President 

:\lcKinley .V 

General ( irant writing his ".Menic>ir>" at Aliiunl .\le(iregur 35 

Facsimiles of conversatinnal imtes from (ieneral (irant to Ur. Shrady . ^X. 39. 41 

(jeneral (irant and family mi the piazza i>f the Dre.xel cnttage at .Mnnnt 

McGregor 45 

.\ gronp on the jjiazza of the Dre.xel cottage at Mmmt .Mc( iregor 51 



vi LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 

PAGE 

Exterior of tlie Drexel cottage, Mount McGregor, New York 55 

The sick-room in the Drexel cottage, jMount McGregor 58 

The room in which ( leneral Grant (hed 59 

The funeral procession up Fifth Avenue 62 

The temporary tomb on Riverside Drive in which the body of General Grant 

was ])laced until it was transferred to the mausoleum 65 

Scene at the dedication of the Grant mausoleum, April i"] , 1897 69 

Atitograph written for Dr. Shrady 72 

Indorsement on the back of a check drawn by The Century Co. to the order of 

General Grant 72 



GENERAL GRANT'S 
LAST DAYS 



Dr. Geokck Frederick Siik.\i>\- dird Xoxmihcr _^o, i<)07. at liis 
residence, 512 Fifth Axeinie', Xcw ^'l)^k cit\. 

Born in W-w \'(irk jannar\' 14. i^^.v- 1^''- Shradv had mnnded unl 
his threescore and ten \ear>. lie was the son of |iiliii and .Margaret 
( Ileinhauer ) Shradv, and was one of ti\-e cliildren, aU of whom were 
l)orn at the old homestead at Xo. 13S Ri\-ington Street. I lis paternal 
grandfather emigrated from liaden-lladen, Germany, and settled in 
-Xew \ ork cit\- in r735. iloih of his grandlathers were soldiers in the 
Revohitionary War, and his father served in the War of 1812. 

His early education was received in the puhlic and private schools 
of Xew ^drk citw and sul)se(|nently he jjursued an academic course at 
the Free Academy, now the College of the City of New York. From 
this institution he entered the College of Physicians and Surgeons in 
this city, from which he was graduated with the degree of Doctor of 
Medicine in 1S3S. llis jjroliciencx- in anatomy l)rought him the same 
\ear at liellevue Hosi)ita] the Wood intercollegiate ])rize. During 
1S57 and it^5N he was resident surgeon in the Xew \nvk 1 losj)ilal, and 
was graduated from the surgical division of that institution in i^^St^. 
He then entered ])ractice in this cit_\-. 

Jn the capacit}- of assistant surgeon in the L'niied .St.ates Armv, 
Dr. Shrady was assigned to duty during the Civil War at the Central 
Park Hosjiital, New ^'ork. ])Ut later was detailed to field dut\- on the 
operating corps. At the ck)se of the w ar he returned to private prac- 
tice and cjuickly acquired a prominent place in the surgical profession. 
It was through his attendance on General Grant during the latter's last 
illness that Dr. Shrady first sprang into national fame. While Grant, 
the ])uhlic ickil, lay ill, an entire nation hung on the words of Dr. 
Shradw liis skill \vent far toward alleviatin"- (irmit's sutTerino-s at 



4 GENERAL GRANT'S LAST DAYS 

the close of his ilhiess. Afterward, when Emperor Frederick was 
seized with an aihnent similar to that of which General Grant had 
died, Sir Morrell McKenzie, the famous English specialist in throat 
diseases, who was attending the Emperor, kept in communication by 
cable with Dr. Shrady for purposes of consultation, and imparted to 
the latter each change of symptom as it occurred. 

After President Garfield had been shot. Dr. Shrady was called into 
consultation by Dr. Bliss as a surgical pathologist, and later made a 
report to the profession and the public, in behalf of the staff, touching 
the results of the autopsy. Me took part in the autopsy on the body of 
the assassin Guiteau, and aided materially in settling several points 
that had been raised as to the sanity of Guiteau when he shot President 
Garfield. In 1890, when Kemmler was electrocuted, the first murderer 
to receive capital punishment by this method. Dr. Shrady was one of 
the medical experts appointed to witness the execution. His observa- 
tions led him to condemn electrocution un(|ualifiedly. 

Dr. Shrady's activities were great and varied. He was visiting 
surgeon to St. Francis Hospital for tw enty years, and was consulting 
surgeon there for over six years past. He served in a similar consult- 
ing capacity at the New York Cancer Hospital, the Hospital for the 
Ruptured and Crippled, the Columbus Hospital, the Fordham (N. Y.) 
Home for Incurables, the General Memorial Hospital, the Red Cross 
Hospital, and the Vassar Hospital at Poughkeepsie, and as family sur- 
geon to the Presbyterian Hospital in New York city. Also he was 
physician-in-chief to the hospitals of the New York Health Depart- 
ment and one of the managers of the Hudson River Hospital for the 
Insane. From 1S61 to 1879 Dr. Shrady was secretary of the New- 
York Pathological Society, and president of that organization in 1883- 
84. Fie was president of the Practitioners' Society of New York and 
of the American Medical Editors' Association. Other positions held 
by him w-ere the trusteeship of the Hudson State Hospital for the In- 
sane at Poughkeepsie, fellow of the American and New York Acad- 
emies of Medicine, member of the New York State Medical Society 
and various other scientific and professional organizations. 

While enioying high distinction as an authority on subject!^ relating 
to general surgery, and having a large practice. Dr. Shrady took 
special pride in his editorial work. This work he began early in his 



GENERAL GRANT'S LAST DAYS 5 

I)rofcssii)nal career, editing;' the "Aiiierican Medical Times" from i860 
to 1864. Two years later he founded the "Medical Record" and re- 
mained its editor-in-chief for thirtv-nine vears. Tie was the author of 
"Pine Ridi^e Pa])ers," a series of satirical and witt\' treatises on char- 
latanism amoiii^- medical jjractitioncrs. Mis contrijjutions on surgery 
to magazines of hoth |)o])ular and medical character constitute a valu- 
able addition to the literature of the profession. For manv years he 
was a member of the editorial staff of the "New York Herald." direct- 
ing his attention especially to the treatment of those subjects that fell 
within the s])here <il his jirofession. 1 Ic was the foremost ach'ocate in 
his \\ritings of the freedom of consultation between members of dift'er- 
ent legally recognized schools of medicine, and was largely instru- 
mental in reconciling merely doctrinal differences in medical i)ractice. 

He was also an earnest adxncate of the extension of clinical instruc- 
tion, the ^'stablishment ot state examinations for the license to ])ractise 
medicine, the advancement ol the standard of ])rofessional education 
by increase of curriculum, and man\- other measures, all of which had 
for object the elevation of the ])rofession and the benefit of mankind. 
Tn recognition of his distinguished accom]ilishments and services the 
degree of master of arts was conferred on him b\- \'ale in i86(j. 

On December K). iSfuj, l^r. Shrady married Mary Lewis of Xew 
York, who died in i8S_:^. \\y this marriage there were four children — 
George V.. Jr., I lenry Merw_\n, ( 'harles 1 )ouglas, and a daughter, now 
AFrs. John \\ Ambrose. 

December 19, 1888. Dr. Shrady married for his second wife, who 
survives him, Mrs. Hester VAlew fantine of Xew ^'ork, a widow with 
one daughter, now Mrs. Edwin Gould. 

Few men are so sincerely mourned or 1)\- such a wide circle of 
friends, ])ersona] and ])rofessional, as is Dr. Shrad\. 

For nearly half a ceiunry he was a conspicuous ligure in his chosen 
profession, and during his whole career he was ever active to help the 
unfortunate, to advise ruid assist the \oung practitioner, and in all 
efforts to raise the standard of medical education and ethics. 

Simple, unaffected, courteous, and with a heart brimiping over 
with kindness, he won the warm aft'ection of all with whom he came 
in contact. Among the sincerest mourners at his bier are the poor, to 
whom he ga\-e his best services withi:>ut hope of fee or reward. 




lX (iciicral (ii-;ml was seized with liis fatal illness in 
the auiuiuii of 1SX4, he a|>iieare(| hefure the wnrld in 
an entirely new character, h'riini liein^i' \iewe(l as the 
stern, nnciiin])r(iniisinL;', and ci in(|uerini;- inilitar\- cuni- 
niander. the rexelatimi nt his simple resii^iiatiim in the 
face of ,L;'reat snllerini^ claimed for liini new fame as a hero in another 
sense. His last battle with the ^feal con(|ueror destined him for 
.SJ'rander laurels than were i^ained on an\- of his man\ trinmphant fields. 
It was the purely human side of his nature that then appealed to the 
.ti'eiieral sympatli\ ol mankind. Thus his last and oid\ snrrender was 
his ^featest xictorw 

1 1 it had heen otherwise, histor\- would ha\e cheated itself of an 
example ot Christian fortitude the like of which has been seldom re- 
corded. It was the contemplation of this ])hase of him that ,1^'ives inter- 
est to e\-ery detail ol his Ion!;;- and ])ainful illness. Me was no lom^er 
the man of arms to he dreaded, or the President to he calumniated, hut 
the bra\-e and helpless sufferer t<i be jiitied and admired. 

I his is written with the \iew of ])reseiuin!4- an intimate ]iicture of 
General drant as be ap])eared to one who was in close and friendh' con- 
tact with him dnriuL;- the last months of his life. If a])parenll\ tri\ial 
matters are noticed, they may in a wav help to finish the picture in pro- 
portion and detail. Moreo\-er, what would be uniiUerestiiii.;^ in ordinary 
persons may ha\e no little imi)ortance in the jjortraiture of noted char- 
acters. There should be no spariiiL;" of s(|uints or wrinkles or other 
apparent deformities. I f the true character does not speak in the like- 



8 GENERAL GRANT'S LAST DAYS 

ness, the picture can ne^•er .ser\^e its purpose. Proj^erly to interpret 
motives, and intelliq-ently to a]ii)reciate consequences, one must have 
everything ^\itIlin reach — pose, clothing, atmosphere, perspective, 
coloring, accessories, foreground, liackground, high light, and shadow. 
Then each spectator can study the result from his own point of view 
and profit accordingly l)v his conclusions. It is not tlie mere size of the 
man so much as his actions under those ordinarx' circumstances which 
make up human exi)erience. How would you have done? is the con- 
stant question that suggests itself. 

My personal acquaintance with General Grant covered the period 
of his last illness, during which 1 was in his confidence as one of his 
consulting surgeons. In such close association there were exceptional 
oi)])ortunities for obtaining an insight int(^ his general character that 
would otherwise ]ia\-e l)cen imi)ossi1)le. There is no ])lace in which 
human nature shows itself so plainlv as in the sick-room. The patient 
is then off his guard against all conventional formalities, and appears 
as his plain and simple self. Thus he was lound, and thus will the 
attem])t he made to ])ortra}' him. 

Tn general a])pe;irance General (irant would be considered the type 
of a simple, dignified, (|uiet, and self-coutained gentleman. Of medium 
height, he was rather stockily built, with short neck and high, S(|Uare, 
and slightlv stooping shoulders. When 1 first \'isited him, he was 
somewhat reduced in llesli and had a decidedl}' sick and dejected look, 
which told of bis mental and ])liysical sulTering. 1 le was seated in a 
leather arm-chair in one corner of his library in his house at No. 7, Kast 
Sixtv-sixth Street, Xew ^'ork, and lie wore a loose, woolen morning 
gown and an ordinar\' smoking-cap ol the same material. 

It would liardK- have been ])ossible to recognize him from any strik- 
ing resemblance to bis well-known portraits. It was not until he bared 
his head and showed his broad, S(|uare forehead and the characteristic 
double-curved brow-lock that his actual presence could be realized. 
The difference in this res]iect between the lower and the upper part of 
his face was to me most striking and distinctive. There was the broad 
and sc|uare lower jaw. the close-cropped full beard, the down-curved 
corners of the firmly closed mouth, the small, straight nose with the 
gradual droop at its tip, the beaxily browed and penetrating, deep-blue 
eyes, and withal the head itself, which crowned the actual Grant with 
real dignitv and force. Ills profile more than maintained the classic 
facial line, so that his chin might be said to be relatively protuberant. 



GENERAL GRANT'S LAST DAYS c 

His ears were larj^e and plainly stood out at an an^le from liis liead 
The circumference of his skull was above the average for a mrni of hi- 
size, and was very broad and scjuare in fnmt. while rounded and fnl' 
liehind. 




John Hancock Donglas, M.I). 



His manner was so modest, and there was such a coni])lete absence 
of assertiveness, that it was difficult to imagine in him the great man 
in whom the entire civilized world was at the time deeply interested. 
He seemed anxious concerning the result of the consultation and was 
plainly apprehensive. 

Those present were Dr. Fordyce Barker, his family physician and 
long-trusted friend; Dr. John Hancock Douglas, the well-known 



lO 



GENERAL GRANT'S LAST DAYS 



lliroat specialist; and I )r. llenry 15. Sancls, the famous surgcun who 
liad consnUed ])reviousl\- on his case. Each in turn made a very formal 
and careful examination of the throat of the ])atient. usin^' tor the 
|inri>o-e the onhnarx' circular refkTtiug--mirror fastened to the fore- 
head 1)\- a hand anmnd the ohserx'cr's head. 

In accordance with the usual professional courtes}-, I. as the new 
consultant in the case, was asked to precede the others, hut as 1 desired 
to l)e initiated into the particular method of examination to whicli the 
( ieneral liad heen accustcimed rather than to sul)ject him to unneces- 
sary pain bv want of such knowledge, the others took the lead. 

Very few words were exchanged by the little grou[). There seemed 
to be a strain alxiut the procedure which i)lainly atiected the patient. 
Dr. Sands, as well as the others present. dul_\- appreciated this, and was 
evidently desirous of diverting the patient's mind from the real object 
of the visit, .\ccordingly. when he handed me the mirror, he remarked 
in his quiet, otid:and manner, that whenever I followed him in such an 
examination, it was necessary to enlarge tlie head lo^p to give an 
extra accommodation for thickness ol liair. 

Asanoi)i)ortnnit\ was thus afforded to start a conversation of some 
sort between us, I ventured to suggest that liair did not always make 
the difl'erence, nor the mere size of the skull, as sometimes the best 
brains were ver\' closely i)acked in very small (|uarters. At this the 
(ieneral gave a faint smile, and for the first time during the meeting- 
showed that he was inclined to be interested in something that might 
ease the gi-a\it\ of the occasion. I was thus ])romi)ted to illustrate to 
Dr. Sands the trulh of what was said by relating to him an anecdote 
told of ( )|iver Wendell Holmes, at the same time hoping to gain the 
attention of the ])atient as a casual listener. 

A traveling |)hrenologist was on a certain occasion gi\ing a jirac- 
lical exhibition of his skill in one of the public halls of P)Oston, and had 
asked for subjects from the audience. I)}' some chance or design, the 
distinguished author was indicated as a choice specimen for demon- 
stration. When he stepped on the stage there was becoming applause, 
l)Ut, as lie was unknown to the lecturer, the latter looked with great 
surprise at the small man with a small head. Imagining that an 
attempt was being made to challenge his ability for discrimination, 
he became indignant. Passing his hand perfunctorily over the brow 
of the smiling and imj^assive victim, he relmked the instigators of the 
sup]iosed plot by declaring that his Intsiness was to examine the heads 



GENERAL GRANT'S LAST DAYS ii 

of men with brains, not those of idiots! Nor was his discomfiture 
appeased by the overwhehning outburst that followed this remark. 

The excuse for mentioning this apparently commonplace occur- 
rence was that it might open the way for a chjser i)ersonal contact with 
Grant. At least he was temporarily amused, and appeared to relish 
the diversion. More than this, he told the story afterward to Bishop 
Newman and others, and at my next visit asked that it be repeated. 
On that occasion he remarked that his own bumps had l)een examined 
when he was a lad, and the |)]n-enologist had made the usual prog- 
nostication, applical)le to all boys, that he also one day might be Presi- 
dent of the United States. 

Notwithstanding this show- of consideration on the part of the 
General, there was a i)urpose to keep constantly in mind that he was 
known as a stolid and reticent man, and this disposition was to be 
carefully humored by a studied avoidance of all undue familiarity on 
the part of a new ac{|uaintance. Thus it was a becoming policv that 
he should ahvavs take the initiati\e, and nlhers merelv ;ict as willine 
listeners. Besides, it was eminently pnijier that he should not l)e 
fatigued with unnecessary conversation or be tired by the exercise of 
strained courtesy. Although I am not a hero-worshiper in the usual 
sense of the term, it w^as edifying to be even in casual association with 
him and to note his different moods and acts. 

When it was learned that he was w-riting his personal memoirs, 
never was a promised work n.iore widely heralded or more anxiously 
awaited. What specially a])pealed to the sympathy of the public was 
the well-known motive for the task— his desire to lift his family above 
the financial distress resulting from the failure of Grant and Ward. 

Although his countless well-wishers were unable to help him, it 
was a comfort to him to know that they felt for him in everv phase of 
his trial, and hailed each temporary respite from suft'ering with deep 
and tender solicitude. During it all he w:is bravelv workine aeainst 
time by making the most of the life so soon to end. He was getting 
away from himself by a forced interest in work, although it was a 
race against reason, strength, and hope. 

During the last months of his illness the General was confined to 
his bed-chamber and an adjoining apartment, which he used as his 
work-room w^hile writing on his memoirs. The monotonv was onlv 
occasionally interrupted b\- a short drive in Central Park on pleasant 
days; but these excursions were eventually discontinued on account of 



12 GENERAL GRAiNT'S LAST DAYS 

the fatigue they caused. He was of the o])inion also that prolonged 
exposure to cool air gave rise to neuralgic headaches, with which, from 
other causes, he was constantly afflicted, it was mainly for this reason 
that he wore his skull cap even when indoors. He accommodated him- 
self, however, to his new conditions with remarkable ease, and showed 
a disposition to meet each requirement with becoming submission. 
He greatlv felt the need of something to occupy his thoughts, and the 
preparation of his memoirs was in this respect a welcome relief. For 
hours he would sit at an extem])orized table oblivious to his surround- 
ines. At other times he took i)leasure in receiving some of his more 



'fe 



intimate friends, occasional!}' indulging in reminiscent references. 

As his room was a thoroughfare for meml)ers of his f;uiiily, he was 
seldom alone; but when al)Stracted or engaged in anything that took 
his attention, no one \entured to interru])! him. 

That he was not disturlied b\- the presence of others was often 
proved bv a polite motion to sit down, while he would unconcerned!}- 
go on w it!i !iis work. 1 lis long ex])erience in cami)-life, with his nnli- 
tary family constantly about him, exidenti}- made him feel ])ertectly at 
ease even in silent company. 

He was as simple in his tastes as he was nnid in his manner. Those 
who knew him onl\- as the stern man of X'icksburg, the warrior whose 
ultimatum was "Unconditional surrender," found it difHcult to recon- 
cile .such an estimate of his character with that of the plain, modest 
person, with soft, kindlv voice and cordial manner, who could place 
himself on the natural le\el with any ordinary, every-day visitor. His 
modesty, which sometimes amounted to i)ositi\e shyness, was so un- 
affected and natural that no one could doubt its genuineness, which 
made it all tiie more difficult to match the man with his former deeds. 
The chastisement of his illness doubtless had much to do with the 
accentuation of this part of his character, and thus displayed his 
purely human side to the high light of more thorough analysis. 

His mental qualities were those of strength and reserve in bal- 
ancing- proportions. It could easily be seen that he was accustomed to 
examine all important questions mostly fn^n the purely subjective side 
of the argument, .\lways ready to listen to the suggestions of others, 
he nevertheless reserved the right to draw his individual conclusion. 
This was his plan in fighting his battles, and proved his extraordinary 
resources. Once convinced of the course to be pursued, his only aim 
was victorv at anv cost. The actual result was everything to him. 



GENERAL GRANT'S LAST DAYS 



'3 



He once said that before every hatlle he always calculated the 
dreadful cost in killed and wounded. It was the price before the bar- 
gain could be closed. He was so much misunderstood in the adoption 
of wise ex])e(liems in this regard that many hatl called him the relent- 
less "butcher, ■■ and _\-et he more than once informed me that the 
carnage in some of his engagements was a positive iKirnir to him. and 
could be excused to his conscience onl\- on the score of the awtul neces- 




Hi-iirv D. San^l^, M.D. 



sity of the situation. "It was always the idea to do it with the least 
suffering," said he, "on the same principle as the performance of a 
severe and necessary surgical oi)eration." He also remarked that the 
only way he could make amends to the wounded ones was to give them 
all the prompt and tender care in his power. It was the proportion of 
the killed and wounded that was the main thing to take into account, 
but, nevertheless, a severe and decisive engagement prevented much 
subsequent and useless slaughter. 

When asked if his militarv responsibilities had not at times rested 
heavily upon him, he significantly answered tliat, having carefully 
studied his jilan, it then became a bounden dut}' to the Government to 



14 GENERAL GRANT'S LAST DAYS 

carry it dUt as ])est he coiild. 1 f he then failed, he had no after regret 
tliat this or that might have been done to alter the result. It was 
facing destiny with a full front. 

Paradoxical as it may ai)])ear, he had an almost abnormally sensi- 
tive abhorrence to the infliction of pain or injury to others. His sym- 
pathy for animals was so great that he would not hunt. John Russell 
Young in his charming book "Alen and Memories," in referring to this 
trait, has truthlullv said: "Xot even the Maharajah of Jevpore with 
his many elephants and his multitude of hunters could persuade him to 
chase the tiger. He had lost no tigers, and was not seeking them." 
This instinct of gentleness was so strong a part of his nature that he 
often regretted that he had not in his earlv days chosen the profession 
of medicine. In fact, that had been his first ambition. But it was 
otherwise to be, and he was to become an ojierator and a healer in a 
larger sense. 

General Grant's home-life was simple and natural in the extreme. 
This accorded with his disposition and habits. F.x-en when President 
of the United States his unostentatious manner of living was a subject 
for remark, and many were willing to say that it did not accord with 
the true dignitv of his high office. This criticism, however, had no 
effect on him at the time or afterward. So mtich did he desire the 
peace and (piiet found in his familv that the gratification of it was his 
greatest |)leasure. In his active life, with its forced interruptions of 
routine and its constant irregularity of calcitlation, there was always 
the natural yearning for the rational comforts that so easily satisfy 
the plain man. 

Although he was not a very early riser, his breakfast was usually 
ready at eight o'clock. He was fond of his coffee, chop, and egg, but 
was a com]iarativelv light eater. The meal finished, his first occupa- 
tion was the perusal of the dail\- ])apers. These he skimmed rather 
th;m read. When any subject specially interested him, he \\ould give 
it careful attention, as if determined to understand it in all its bear- 
ings, lie seldom nn'ssed a head-line, and alwavs knew in advance 
what was necessarv for him to read. In this resjject he was essen- 
tiallv a man of aft'airs, as under other circumstances it would have 
been impossible for him to be e\-en ordinarilx' informed on current 
events. 

The Grant luncheon was a bountiful meal, but intended more for 
casttal guests than for members of the familv; and the same mav be 



GENERAL GRANT'S LAST DAYS 15 

said of the dinner, which was seldom a strictly family affair. The 
General always presided at the head of the table, with Mrs. Grant 
sitting opposite, while the other members of the family were ranged 
alongside. The guest soon fell Iiimself at home in a general at- 
mosphere of sincerity of |)uri)Ose and cordiality of manner. It was 
more in tlie nature of a neighborly call than a stiff and formal social 
function. The visitor never left without a favorable impression of 
the charming home-life of his host. It is not too much to sav that such 
solid and sini|)k' (lomesticit\- formed the ])roper setting for the sound 
and wholesome methods which dominated lii^ jilaciil and earnest char- 
acter. 

A great deal has been said of Grant's excessi\-e use of tobacco. He 
was undoubtedly a great smoker. During Ids battles and while in 
camp, on horseback, on foot, or at his desk, he was seldom without his 
cigar. It had not always been so, at least not to such a degree. He 
had smoked from the time he was a young man, but never to excess 
until he became a General in the Union Army and a special object of 
interest on that account. 

His first re])utation as a cliampiou of the weed dated from the 
cai)ture of Fort Donelson, when at that time he was described with the 
"inevitable cigar'" in his mouth. The various newspa]:)ers discussed 
from many points of view this new phase in his char.acter, and (|uanti- 
ties of dift'erent brands of toliacco were sent to him from everv (|uarter. 
In relating the circumstance, he frankly admitted that this charac- 
teristic being as much of a discovery to him as to the pulilic, he was 
rather tem])tingly forced to develop it to its full extent bv industriously 
sampling the dift'erent iM-ands in turn. 1'Iie main stimulus in such 
directions was from various nianut'acturers in Cu])a who sent bini 
choice selections from their ])lantations in the vain ho])e that he would 
aid the more extensive sale of their wares by his per.sonal use and in- 
dorsement of them. He was always led to acknowledge, however, that 
up to that time bis taste for fine to])acco Iiad never been fully de- 
veloped. 

Often when pressed with hea\-y res])onsibilities, his rapidly smoked 
cigar became his main reliance, AMnle planning or executing a battle, 
it was his constant companion ; and, as he freely admitted, he was 
never better fitted for calm delilicration than when enveloped in its 
grateful and soothing fumes. 

As might have been expected, the habit grew until only the strong- 



1 6 GENERAL GRANT'S LAST DAYS 

est flavored tobacco could meet his fully de\eloped requirements. This 
habit, so inveterate in his later years, was destined to contribute in a 
measure, at least, to his death. Although it was not the direct agent 
in inducing the fatal throat disease, the irritating fumes of the weed 
tended in no small degree to aggravate the difficulty Ijy increasing the 
irritation in the alreadv diseased parts. \Mien told that it was neces- 
sary to throw awav his cigar and smoke no more, he resignedly did so, 
Init often a\-erred afterward that the deprivation was grievous in the 
extreme. 

As an offset to what he considered a martyrdom, he would enjoy 
the smoke of others, and often invited his. friends to smoke in his room. 
On one of these occasions he remarked that if not permitted to be a 
little wicked liimself, he had a melancholy cumfurt in i)itying the weak- 
ness of other sinners. This in a way showed that the teni])tation to 
revert to his besetting sin was almost constantly jiresent. 

During one of the few times when he felt a little happy over his 
relief fmrn ])ain and worrx', and wished "tn celebrate the occasion," he 
sur])riscd me with the question, "DDCtor. do you think it wnuld really 
harm me if 1 took a puff or two from a mild cigar.-'" 

There was sdmething so ])itiful in the request, and so little harm in 
the chance \enture, that consent was easily obtained. With an eager- 
ness that was \-eritabIe hai)])iness to him he hesitatingly took a cigar 
from the mantel, reached for a match, and was .soon making the most 
of his ])rivilege. ( ")nh' a few ])uffs were taken before he voluntarily 
stopped his smoke. "Well, I have had at least that much," he ex- 
claimed. Continuing, he plaxfulh' remarked that it would not do to 
have the performance get to the public as it might l)e said he was not 
obeving orders. This expectation, however, was not realized, owing 
to an inadvertence on the i)art of his only witness, who had neglected 
to ])ull down the window-shades at the oj)])ortune time. A day or two 
afterward there ajjpeared in a newsi)a]ier a head-line, "General Grant 
smokes again." Airs. Grant, who knew nothing of the incident, in- 
dignanth- denied the truth of the report, and the ill-credited story was 
])ru(lentlv allowed to take care of itself. The General himself was 
c\identl\- satisfied to let the matter rest without further discussion, 
as he never afterwai'd referred to the circumstance. 

Such occurrences made but little impression upon him, as the com- 
ments of the press on trivial matters were viewed with amusement 
rather than with serious concern. He had been criticized on so nianv 




rnmi .1 [.ihotograph by Rockwood 

Fordyce Barker. ]\I.D. 



GENERAL GRANT'S LAST DAYS 19 

more weighty matters tliat he had become seemingly callous to such 
as did not affect his general integrity of character. 

There was no time perhaps in his whole career when he became 
more sensitive to the ])ul)lic interpretation of his motives than when 
his character for honesty was questioned by some in connection with 
the failure of Grant and Ward. There was no doubt that the shock 
of the announcement greatly added to his already weakened condition 
and aggra\ate(l the local troulile in his throat, liis mental suffering 
was most intense and was mainly dependent upon the reflection on his 
honor and business integrity which had been so cruelly and so unjustly 
made by those who had been directl}- and guiltily responsible for the 
scandal, lie was then forced to realize that there was no sacrifice 
too great to save that good name he had tints far successfulh' lal)ored 
to deserve. 

In his home-life General Grant delighted in simplicity. He felt 
perfectly at ease himself, and desired all his intimate friends to accom- 
modate them^eh'es to a hke condition. W ith a pure moti\e of respect 
and familiarity he would generally call his old comrades b\- their sur- 
iiames, omitting all their conventional titles ; but he never addressed 
them by their christened names, evidently believing that such a course 
was lacking in ordinary propriety. Under other circumstances, and 
with casual ac([uaintances, he was always more thait courteouslv dig- 
nified and respectfully formal. I'irst names were alwavs used, how- 
ever, in his immediate family. 

The intercourse between its memlters was tmrestrained and often- 
times playful. Fred (then C(ilonel ) Grant, who had the privilege of 
being most constantly with his father during the latter's illness, was 
always eager for an opi)ortunity to minister to his most trivial needs. 
No greater show of filial love could have been possible. He could 
scarcely pass his father's chair without reaching over to smooth and 
pat his lirow, and the General appeared to l)e always expecting this 
tribute of affection. Father and son thus came verv close to each other. 
Next to Mrs. Grant, "Col. Fred" was the General's most trusted coun- 
selor. The son felt this responsiliility. and was alwavs on the alert to 
second any wish of his stricken parent. Fie well knew that the time 
for such sacred duties was short, and he was seeming-lv more than 
anxious to improve the fast-passing opportunities. What made the 
solicitude greater was the fact that the General, so far from being ex- 
acting in his demands, seldom complained and seemed determined to 



20 



GENERAL GRANT'S LAST DAYS 



give as little trouble as possible under an almost constant stress of 
suffering. 

Nothing delighted the family more than to learn that the patient 
was comfortal^le and inclined to be cheerful. Sometimes extraordinary 
efforts were necessar\- to make him forget for a time his pain and be 
himself again. On one such occasion, when the General had passed a 



^m^^mmwMWfm^smz^m 




JtSSE ROUT GRANT AT SIXTV-MNE 



HANNAH SIMPSON GRANT 



The parents of General Ulysses S. Grant 

The portraits are from original photographs owned by E. R. Rurke. of La Crosse, Wisconsin, 
whose mother was a cousin of (leneral Cirant. 



restless night and was much depressed in consequence, I used a rather 
bold expedient to rouse him from a settling despondency. Mrs. Grant 
and Mrs. Sartoris, while waiting outside his room during one of my 
morning visits, had asked as usual how he had slept and what was his 
condition on waking. I explained to them his very depressed condi- 
tion, and asked them if they would help me create a diversion for the 
patient. The plan was duly accepted and the following dialogue 
ensued : 

"General, two ladies have called, and have asked if they can see 



GENERAL GRANT'S LAST DAYS 21 

von. Tliev are ver\' anxious to know how you are. hut have promised 
not to disturl) you hy useless questions." 

"But why can you not tell them?" said he. 

"Thev insist upon seeinj^' you themselves, if it is possihle," was the 
answer. 

"What did you say to them?" 

"That thev mig'ht see you if they promised to allow me to speak 
for you." 

"Well," said he resi<4nedl\-, "y^u may invite them in." 

When Airs, (irant and "Xcllx" entered. I introduced them with 
mock formality and stated llie ohject of their visit, at the same time 
])romisiny- the (ieneral that 1)oth ladies had made a solemn promise not 
to em^a.ye him in an\- cnnxersation. 

The (ieneral lonk in the ^iIualilln al niice; there was a new .u'li'it in 
his eye, and with a su])pressed smile he very deliheralely said, "i.adies. 
the doctor will tell you al! that vou wish to know." Then, as if they 
had heen strangers to him. I sim])l_\- replied that as tlie (ieneral did not 
wish to he trouhled with useless questinns. he desired to sav that he 
was feeling- reasonahlv comfortable, that he fully a])preciaLed the 
honor of their visit, and was correspondin»iv grateful for their sym- 
pathy. Ily thi^ titne liis desjiondency had disa])i)eared. and after Mrs. 
Gr.ant and her daughter had bowed and left the room, he called to litem 
and ended the e])is(ide bv an enjoyable chat. 

With a similar object in \'iew at another time a diversion was 
made in another direction, w ith an e(|ually beneficial result. One night 
when the ]>alienl was much depressed and unable to sleej), he expressed 
a wish, in the temporar\- absence of Dr. Douglas, to see me. lender 
ordinary circumstances an anod\ne would have been indicated to 
procure for him a good night's rest : but such a remedy had on previous 
occasions ])roved disappointing", and it was agreed that milder and 
more natural methods should be tried. Accordingly it was determined 
to accomplish the results on new lines. He was fearful of a sleepless 
night, and felt that he must rest at any cost. Being determined that 
he should not yield to such an impression, I persuaded him that an 
altered position in bed might eilect the desired object. 

"What shall I do?" he asked, with that gentleness and willingness 
to obey orders which always characterized him. 

"Allow me to arrange your pillow and turn it on its cooler side, 
while you imagine yourself a boy again." Continuing, I ventured to 



2 2 GENERAL GRANT'S LAST DAYS 

say: "\\'hen a voiingster, you were never bolstered up in that fashion, 
and every l^ed was the same. Now, curl up _\-our legs, lie o\-er on your 
side, and bend vour neck while T tuck the cover around your shoulders." 
Apparentlv the idea struck him pleasantly, as was shown by his 
docile and acquiescent manner. Lastly I placed his hand under the 
pillow, and asked him if he did not feel easy and comfortable. As he 
apparentlv desired then to be left alone, 1 c^nld not resist the tempta- 
tion to pat him coaxingly and enjoin him "to go to sleep like a boy." 

:\lrs. Grant was present, and watched the proceeding with a pleased 
concern. After the covering had been otherwise properly arranged 
and the light in the sick chamber had been turned low, she and I sat 
beside the bed and awaited developments. In a few minutes we saw, 
to our great gratification, that the tired and heretofore restless patient 
was peacefully and soundly asleep. He rested as he must have done 
when a boy. After watching the patient for some time. 1 turned to 
Mrs. Grant, saving: "T "m afraid that the General will not like that 
kind of treatment. He may think it inconsistent with his digniity to be 
treated like a child, and may not understand the real motive." 

"Not the slightest danger of that," replied Mrs. Grant. "He is the 
most simple-mannered and reasonable person in the world, and he likes 
to have persons whom he knows treat him without ceremony. ' 

When, at his request, I tried the same method the following even- 
ing, he yielded to it as readily as before, and as the result of his 
"boy-fashion of sleeping,"" seldom afterward was there any need for 
anodvnes until the last days of his sickness. He told me subsequently 
that lie had not slei)t with his arm under a bolster and his knees curled 
up under his chin in that way since he first went to West Point, forty 
vears before. 

After this incident it happened that T was brought into closer rela- 
tions with General Grant than T had been before. He seemed pleased 
to encourage a familiarity of intercourse. He was then no longer the 
naturally reserved man, but the frank and open-hearted friend. Thus 
he would often invite me to talk with him, and never manifested any 
hesitation in giving his views, in a reminiscent way, on dillerent to|)ics 
under discussion. 

T was pardonablv curious to learn his opinion on many matters 
with which his great career as a soldier had lirought him in direct con- 
tact. Tn the "reticent man" there was thus opened for me a new line 
of psychological study. It was the difference between being within 



GENERAL GRANT'S LAST DAYS 23 

actual tmich of the light-house lamps and in formerly wonderino- at 
their glare and flash when miles away. The same voice then spoke to 
me that had made armies move and cannon roar. It was always an 
edification to hear this central figure of it all so simply and modestly 
refer to his ajiparentl}- casual share of the work. 




Ulysses S. Grant, grandson of 
General U. S. Grant 

This photograph was made abcwt the time the letter was 
written which is shown in facsimile on page 32. 

W'liKX there was much discussion in the newspapers regarding 
Grant's personal treatment of Lee on the occasion of the famous meet- 
ing at Appomattox, I was interested to hear his own \-ersion of the 
event. In all his conversations on the suhject, he always spoke of Lee 
as a great general and a magnanimous gentleman. It was only the 
difl:'erent reasons for fighting each other that, in a military sense, made 
the two men forced enemies. Two practised players took opposite sides 
on the checker-hoard. \\'hen the game was over, the issue was closed. 



24 GENERAL GRANT'S LAST DAYS 

There was thus mi necessity for any embarrassing explanations when 
the two opposing generals saluted each other. The real purpose of the 
meeting was at first masked by the ordinary civilities of the occasion. 
The difference in the appearance of the two was very marked. Lee 
was attired in an entirely new uniform; Grant wore a blouse, and was, 
as usual, without his sword. 

Grant, in relating the circumstance, confessed himself at great dis- 
advantage in his iirdinarv field clothes and "muddy boots," and felt 
bound to apologize accordingly. The apparent discourtesy was purely 
accidental, as Grant had no appropriate uniform at hand. He was 
notorious for his neglect of such formalities. He was a mere working- 
man (in the field, with soft felt hat, private's overcoat, no sword, and 
with gauntlets trimmed to mere gloves, llis only care was for his 
horse, always well caparisdued and well kej)!. This time, how^ever, his 
pet animal limped In the rendezvous with a sprained fdot, carrying an 
equallv sorr\- rider iust recovering from a severe attack of headache. 
Lee wore a magnificent sword, presented to him b\- the ladies (if Rich- 
mond. Grant, noticing this, instantly made up his mind to waive the 
formalitv of acce])ting the weapon, as he did not wish in any way to 
wdund the pride of so valiant an antagonist. 

In remarking n|)on the circumstances connected with the surrender, 
he substantiated all the details mentioned in Badeau's military history. 

It was strange indeed to hear Grant describe that memorable and 
dramatic scene with the least jwssible show of exultation or vainglory 
and with the rare and simjile modesty of a man who was describing 
what appeared to him to be a very ordinary circumstance. 

No one can sav that Grant was given in any way to pomp or show. 
He was intolerant of all useless and extravagant exultation. It was 
his privilege to march at the head of his victorious army into Rich- 
uKMid and take formal possession of the con(|uered ca])ital of the Con- 
federacy; but instead of doing so, he immediately hurried in a (|uiet 
wav to Washington to stop expenditure of men and money and to end 
the war in the f|uickest and most ])ractical w ay in his power. 

Mrs. Grant, in referring to some of the ovations given him during 
his memora])le tri|i abroad, said that he submitted to them rather than 
enjoyed them. .\ striking instance was when he received the salute of 
royal elephants tendered him by the King of Siam. On that occasion 
the animals were drawn up in doulile line, and as the General walked 
alone along a path thus formed, each trunk by way of salute was raised 



GEiNERAL GRANT'S LAST DAYS 25 

in turn as he passed. W'liilc fully appreciating the marked distinction 
thus shown him, his natural modesty was duly shocked by the atten- 
dant display of pomj). and he remarked al the end that he had never 
before "inspected such a novel guard nmunt." The same feeling ap- 
peared to possess him when hemmed in by a cheering crowd and 
compelled to acknowledge its cordial salutations. He never seemed 
able to understand that the greeting was intentled as a distincth' jjcr- 
sonal compliment to the man. 

That he was nex'er spoiled by these outbursts of enthusiasm was 
shown by his frequent expressions of relief when the incentives for 
their display were over and he gracefully took his position as "an 
ordinary private citizen." In referring to the vote of thanks from 
Congress, he would say: "That is the Government's expression of 
appreciation of services"; and once he said to me, "That is the certifi- 
cate given me for being a good boy in school."" 

He told me that one rainy evening while walking to a recei)tion 
which was gi\en in his honor he was overtaken bv a i)edestrian who 
was on his way to the same place of meeting. The stranger, who cjuite 
familiarly shared the General's umbrella, volunteered the information 
that he was going to see Grant. The General responded that he was 
likewise on his way to the hall. 

"I have never seen Grant," said the stranger, "and 1 merelv go to 
satisfy a personal curiosity, lletween us, T have always thought that 
Grant was a very much overrated man."' 

"That 's my view also,"" replied his chance companion. 

When tlie}' afterward met on the receiving-line, the General was 
greatly anuised when the stranger smilingiv said: "If I had onlv 
known it. General, we might have shaken hands before."" 

Although the General had a well-earned reputation for remember- 
ing faces and indi\-i(lual points of character in connection with them, 
it was not surprising that he should sometimes be at a loss to place 
persons he had met before. In order to avoid embarrassment, he 
would frecjuently resort to the expedient of being informed in ad- 
vance of the persons he was to meet. 

At a reception given to him by General Sharpe in Kingston. Xew 
York, on a trip to the Catskill Mountains, a noted character of that 
region, a great admirer of Grant, was introduced to him. The Gen- 
eral, attracted by the open-hearted and bluff manner of the man, in- 
quired as to the chance of a pleasant day for the morrow and the 



26 GENERAL GRANT'S LAST DAYS 

(opportunity for a view from the mountain peal<s. The man so much 
ai)preciate(l the prixilege of e\en this hrief interview that he constantly 
referred to it in talking with his neighbors. 

Long afterw^ard the General was a guest of Mr. Harding, the 
proprietor of the Kaaterskill Hotel, when the proud interviewer was 
seen approaching them on the voiul. 

"Here comes a man. General, who constantly prides himself on 
having talked with ynu, ;ind he is evidently bent on renewing the 
ac(|uaintance." 

"Where and when did 1 see him," asked the General, "and what is 

his name?" 

Mr. Harding, lieing naturally ac()uainted with all the facts in the 
case, having often heard the man tell his story, gave the inquirer all 
the necessary information. When the countryman approached, an 
inl r( )duction followed. 

"( ■icneral, here is an old friend of yours, Mr. " 

"What, Mr. ! Oh, yes; 1 saw you at General Sharpe's. We 

had fine weather the next day, although I did not think it possible 
when you told me. Are yon .always such a good weather-prophet?" 



II 




F.r.IXG ("ic'iioral (Irant so fre(|Ut'iuly, I had reasonable 
ii])|)i)riunitics hir siudyiny Iiis niDods and l)cconiing 
ac(|iiainlcd with his views on many sul^jects. Tlic 
topics were tdr the ni^st ])art introchieed 1»\- hiniselt. 
and there was a freeddni in their chsenssion that was in 
strange cunLrasl with his ^■eneral repntatinn for stnched reserve, llis 
insight into character and motive was tlie (inti^rowth (jf long' and 
varied ex[)erience w ith men and circumstances, and was ahvavs echfy- 
iny to the hstener. In recds^nizin^' fnll\- the ho])clessness of his phys- 
ical ailment, and thai tlie mortal issue was a mere question of time, 
there was a sad sincerity in his reflections that allowed no doubt of 
their weight and accuracy. At times he a])peared to talk for posterity, 
that he might lea\e behind him some testimonx- that would be sugges- 
tive or useful to others. 

It will be easily taken for granted that he had a great burden to 
Ijear in the contemplation of the ultimate doom that awaited him. 
Although he defiantly and bravely awaited the final termination of his 
suft'erings, there were many occasions when he became mentally de- 
pressed. At such times he was ominously silent, and would sit gazing 
abstractedly into space, and be in essence and substance the silent and 
introspective man. ^Vhen attempts were made to arouse him from such 
de])ressing reveries he would merely rejily in monosyllables, as if de- 
siring in a courteous way to be left to himself. Often, in apparent 
desperation, he would take to a game of solitaire, and for hours would 
be quietly fighting a battle with himself. 



28 GENERAL GRANT'S LAST DAYS 

J )uring- these periods uf depressinn he was incapable uf lixing- his 
mind on his "IVlemoirs," and ollen atler an ineffectual effort would 
yive u[i in despair. I le was then aware of having lost his gri[) on 
himself, and would wait patiently and uncomplainingly for an oppor- 
tunity to recover it. W hat seemed to annoy him most was the teasing 
pain in his throat and his difticult\- in swallowing. When these symp- 
toms were prominent, the mental depression was pr(_ip()rtionately 
pronounced. Mis onl\- conci'rn was lest he might clioke in his sleep. 
This possibility was so constantly in his thoughts that it was freciuenth- 
necessary to comfort him with positive assurances to the contrary. 
His "choking .spells" so often luentioncd in the bulletins were never- 
theless very distressing, and, although temporari]\- demoralizing to his 
pluck, were never attended with immediate danger of absolute suf- 
focation. 

Still these conditions worried him, and it was often a matter of 
surprise to those about him that he could at any time do any work 
whatever. His (juietly determined struggle to do his best ,vas a whole- 
.some object lesson for all. h^or hours, while stubbornlv working at his 
desk, he would deny himself a drink of water rather tlian trust to the 
chance of special pain in swallowing it. 

Although he expressed firm belief in Christianit\ , he was in 
some sense a fatalist. r)ften, in speaking ol his maladv, he would sav: 
"Tt was to have been." His was a Christianity that taught him to sub- 
mit to whatever might come. Religion supported him on one side, and 
philoso])hv on tlie other. Thus conditioned, lie was naturally tolerant 
of the \iews ot others. Sects to him were differences in methods 
rather than in ])rinci|)les. In speaking of this subject he remarked that 
latitude in religioits thought and freedom of its exi)ression were the 
foundations of true liberty in any government. The worship of God 
according to conscience was also the fundamental principle of all 
religions. The real jKiint to be considered was whether a man was 
doing the most \vitli the light that was given him. The Methodist 
form of worship appealetl to him for its simplicity. The argument in 
favor of faith in the supernatural was the ])eace. comfort, and safety 
of its acceptance. 

.\lthough strictly rexerential, lie was not what might l)e called an 
enthusiastically devout Christian. \A'hen the Rev. Dr. Newman, his 
l)astor and friend, called to pra\- with him, he was always pleased to 
see him, would be the Ih'st to kneel to the devotional exercise, and 



GENERAL GRANT'S LAST DAYS 



29 



aflcrwanl wduld al\\a_\s in a (|uiet and hnnihle \\a\- coinersc with his 
spiritnal adxi^cr < m s]iiriliial affairs, 'fhcrc cnnld \)v mi di mhi nf a 
,L;'i"cal l)(Mid (d sympadi) hciwcen these Iwn men, who, fr(.)ni loni;' asso- 
ciation, nnderslood each other ])erfectl\-. 

Grant's respect lor reh'L;ion \\a^ i|nile consistent with his hii^h 




I1..111 .1 |.|hH...,.i-.1|i1. I.y I'.Kli Hi"-.. New V..rk 

T.icutunant Ulysses S. Grant, !_'. S. A. (.t;r.-iii<ls(iii of Geiu-ral Gr.-inll. 
wlion a cadet at West I'niiit 



nioral attrihntes. It has heen most trnly said of him that lie was ne\-er 
profane or \'nl.L;'ar. His friends and intimates can hear ample tes- 
timony to this comnienda])le part of his ])ri\ate character, lie had 
l)romised his mother ne\-er to utter an oath, and had faithfulK- kept his 
word. He could he eni])hatic enough in his conversation, his ortlers, 



30 GENERAL GRANT'S LAST DAYS 

and liis wrilint;', tn make ualhs of any kiiul cnlircly unnecessary Xo 
one who knew tlie man woukl venture a (|uestionable story in his 
presence. On one occasion, after a dinner, a i^^aiest, in venturinj.^" an 
anecdote, asked in a furtive way if any ladies were within hearing-. 
The General, then President of the United States, simply rei)lied: 
"No; but there are some gentlemen present," and showed his readiness 
to leave the room. 

The other side of (irant's character and his belief in "Whal was to 
be, wotild be," presented a much more positive aspect. His explana- 
tions of the reasons why such should be the case were, however, more 
of a material than of a spiritual character, it was his inter])retation 
of e\-erv-dav events and of their direct relation to causes. Certainlx' 
his own life-e.xperiences helped to ground him in sucli a faith. Invents 
and conditions shaped themselves consistently in sui)i)ort of such a 
view. The waiting- man and his real work came together at last, and 
when they did, as usually hai)pens, there was the short circuit to tame. 
The man, the gun, the aim, and the game were all in line at the jjroper 
time. How many have tried, and how many more will tr_\' to tullil such 
conditions, and have only failure for their etiorts! He would modestly 
explain it from his own point of view by remarking: "It was to have 
been." 

Certainh- destinv a])peared to control his career against many 
apparent odds. The strangest fact of all is. that Grant hii-iiself. after 
entering- the army, never expected to be anything more than ai"! ordi- 
nary soldier, doing his duty in humble positions, until such time as 
he might secure an instructorship at \\'est Point, and enjoy a (|uiet, 
rural home on the Hudson. He often said that, next to being a ])hy- 
sician, such a life had been his highest ambition. What he did was 
done because he could not help doing it. His life was an evolutionary 
process with a sure ending in the ])ro])er choice. Fate laid hold of the 
right man at last. X"o one could have guessed the choice amid the 
parade, bluster, defeat, and failure of those who were e(|ually promi- 
nent in the earlier years of the rebellion. 

No man had had a poorer chance to distinguish himsell than he 
after his early resignation from the army, in which he had reached the 
grade of captain. It was virtuall\- the end of his ambition lor military 
honors of any kind, and his only resource was to begin life again on a 
farm, with hard labor and a struggle with poverty, obscurity, and dis- 
courag-ement. No disci]>line could be more severe to one with even 



GENERAL GRANT'S LAST DAYS 31 

moderate asjjiralii (IIS ; I)ut he bowed In it with the Ijecinuini;- resi^-nation 
of a victim to uncdiUroHahle eircumslanees. Impressed with llie con- 
viction tliat he had tried and failed, there was a])|)arentlv notliins^- 
ahead lnr him l)Ul a rejietition of i)asl experiences. .Siih. behind il all 
was a determination t(_) retrieve what he had lust. In such a determina- 
tion there was the evidence of that staying ])()wer which afterward 
made him the great man. The will was there, in s|)ite of the disheart- 
ening circnmstances of his en\-ironment. I lis energies were loaded 
for action, bnt the opportnnil}- was not vet in sight. 

In that period before the C'i\-il War he \\;is known as the (|niet, 
retired captain who had luck against him, and was becomingly i)ilied 
by such as believed that there might yet l)e some good in him. It so 
liap])ened, however, that when military affairs were discussed in his 
home town of (ialena at the outbreak of the war. no one there was 
better (lualihed to give advice in the raising and eciuipment of volunteer 
troops. At a public meeting he was asked to give his views. Embar- 
rassed beyond measure, he modestly expressed them, and was sur- 
prised lo fmd them accepted. In promising to take ]iart in the 
movement, he was merely offering to do his bounden duiv ;is an humble 
citizen. Mis only ambition was to be useful in a small way. The aim 
was to do diligently whatexer came to hand, to work for the work's 
sake. Such a disposition characterized all his sul)sc(|uent efforts. His 
highest ho])e at first was to be the colonel of a \dlunteer regiment, and 
this was made barely possible to him b\- the number of incompetent 
persons who through purely political influence had l:)een a])pointed to 
that i)osition. Even when he was promoted tc) be a brigadier-general, 
he was inclined lo doubi his fitness for the resi)onsibi]ities of the rank. 
His father, in fact, warned him at the time not to allow anv foolish 
ambitions to get the better of his cooler judgment. He l)ecame so im- 
pressed by the admonition that he never thought of aiming higher. 
Thereafter it was to him the glory of his work rather than a reputation 
for its doing. He was too l)Usy with material results to count the 
smaller vanities of their achievement. 

Contact with great events gave him broad views of men and things, 
and calm judgment of motives and justice, in the estimation of (jualifi- 
cations for action in others. His early personal experiences gave him 
also a charitable feeling for failure in others. There was always a 
kind word for the man who had missed his mark. The unfortunate 
ne Avas always viewed as the unlucky person who had been unable to 



( I 



32 GENERAL GRANT'S LAST DAYS 

uverconie (liH'icultics. Tliere was nevt-T any arrogance or pretension in 
exi^lainiii!^' his own successes. The\' were lo him the merest accidents 
of circnmstances. 



i/(r ^t^^^t^c^ i/.-t> 



^ ('•-^ t- 













lUJw 




Facsimile of General Grant's letter, asking the appointment i)f his grandson to West I-'oint. 
with the indorsements of General Sherman and President !McKinley 

It was plain to see that in his estimate ol the (hllerent i^enerals 
with whom he liad l)een associated, Slierman and Sheridan took first 
place. He seemed ne\'er tired o| s])eakin<;" of their (|ualities in terms ot 
dee|) affection: The first a^ the \\ell-])nised, stubhorn, self-reliant, and 
uncon(|neral)le warrior, tlie other as the dashing", impetnous, and irre- 
sistible cliar^ier. hnt each incom])ara])le in his res])ective line. In si)eak- 
in^- i.^\ McC'lellan he maintaine(l that the course taken by him earl\- in 
the war was necessarx' to the end attained. ?\lcC"lellan was a jtidiciously 
cautions ,iu;'eneral, was justly lo\-e(l 1)\- his army, was a ^'ood disciplina- 
rian, and a s])lendid or^'.anizer. It was excellent slrate^}- to protect 
and drill raw recruit^ until the\' were ht to take the offensive. 

Contrary to what mi^ht be expected, he was \-ery lenieiu in his 
criticism of lUitler in connection with the Hutch (kip Canal fiasco. It 
ma\- be recollected that Cirant referred officialb' to the fact that the 



GENERAL GRANT'S LAST DAYS ss 

cnem\' had corked up llullcr's anii\- as in a iHtttlc. ( )n askiny the 
General why he liad used such an expression, he a\i)\\ed that he had 
no intention ot making a severe or ottensive criticism, liui had merely 
rei)ealed a phrase which had lieen used in a personal rejiort made hv 
(jeneral liarnard, liis chief engineer. 

I'or the ("ontederate generals he had great respect. Lee was a re- 
sourceful commander, a horn strategist, and a valiant lighter. )oe 
Johnston showed wcjndertul ahiliix. and his pos^ihle manieux'ers were 
always a matter ol deep concern to an\- one ahout to .attack him. 

Stonewall Jackson had heen one xear al West I'oinl when (irant 
was graduated. Though \iewed as a \eritahle crank, there seemed 
even then to he something in him thai would tell in the long run. \\ hen 
Jackson ohtained a command, his chance came. He was of the Crom- 
wellian t>pe, heliexdng with all his heart that (iod was on his side. It 
was the conviction of a special mission. I le imagined himself directlv 
chosen to maintain the right, to stand again>i anything and evervlhing 
wrong like the stone wall that he was. 

For liuckner, who was (irant's old-time friend, there was alwavs a 
good word, and when that ofhcer visited Mount .McGregor to tender 
his sympathies, the meeting was such as might ha\e heen expected. 

For Napoleon General Grant expressed no liking, lie said that 
Xa])oleon's treatment of josei)liine was ahomin.ahle, and .admitted of 
no possihle excuse, and would he ;i hlot on his char.acter for all time. 
Conceding that as a military genius Xapoleon took fir>t r.ank, he found 
his motives grasping, arhitrary, and selfish. It was the m.an working 
for himself rather than for his country— the use of tremendous power 
for most insignificant ends. PY'rson.al amhition so oxerwhelmed ]);i- 
iriotism th.at he hecame a \eritahle "nnlitarv monster." 

Groniwell he regarded ;is .an .ahle general .and still hetter statesman, 
and .although a fanatic, he was admirahly suited to the conditions of 
his time. 

It was e\ident he thouglil ih.al Wellington h;id the fortunes n\ \\;ir 
on his side at Waterloo, but it was by sheer force of good generalshi]) 
that he took advantage of them. Xapoleon, though more than a m.alch 
for Wellington in resources, made a fatal miscalculation. Hut it was 
high time for Napoleon's career, based on a mere desire for personal 
aggrandizement and dictatorial power, to come to an end. 

The character of Lincoln was often a subject of comment, and the 
General seemed always ready in his communicable moods to refer to 



34 GENERAL GRANT'S LAST DAYS 

some peciiliarit}- of the martyr president which showed siniphcity of 
demeanor and directness oi pnrpose. His esteem for him was nn- 
bounded. "The Hrst time I saw President Lincohi." he said, "1 was 
prof(.>undh' impressed by his modesty, sincerity, and earnestness. He 
was jnstice, humanity, and charity all in one."" 

deneral Grant always showed amusement in referring to Lincoln"s 
humor under trying circumstances, and his great tact in easing the dis- 
appointment of a candidate lor office. 1 he habit of illustrating a i)oint 
by a little story or a timeh' i)arable was one of Lincoln"s traits. He 
was always ready to argue a point on such a basis, and his meaning 
was seldom misunderstood. On one occasion the General himself was 
the subject of one of these touches of humor. Governor Smith of 
Virginia, having remo\ed the State capitol from Richmond to Dan- 
ville, after Lee"s surrender, sent a letter to General Grant, asking if 
he would be permitted to exercise the functions of his oftice, and if not, 
to leave the country unmolested by the Federal authorities. The Fed- 
eral headquarters were then at Burkesville, and in the absence of Grant 
in Washington, the note was received bv General Aleade, who inime- 
diately telegraphed its contents to his commanding officer. General 
Grant on meeting the I'resident, showed him the despatch by way of 
asking for instructions, but Lincoln, referring to the reciuest to be 
permitted to leave the country, gave none except as implied in the story 
he told of an Irishman who was |)opular in S])ringfield, and who had 
been persuaded to sign the pledge. Tiring of soda water, which he 
was using as a substitute stimulant, one day, in spite of previous good 
resolutions, he was strongly tempted to indulge in his old beverage, 
and holding an em])ty tumbler liehind him asked a friend if some 
brandv could n"t be ])oured in the water "unbeknownst"' to him. In 
reciting this anecdote, (ieneral Grant would jwse himself as Lincoln 
had, bv standing l)v a chair, placing one foot on a rung and with glass 
behind him and an averted face appear to be expecting the favor. 

While (General Grant was in no strict sense a story-teller on his 
own account, he was at times given to repeating in an ettective way 
the anecdotes of his friends, and quietly showed great appreciation of 
the humcTT of the various situations. He was never tired of refer ring- 
to Lincoln's odd and innocent mannerisms on the occasions when they 
met. Tliis. however, was always done in that loving spirit which was 
the natural and instinctive outgrowth of an imi|uestioned admiration 
for "the greatest man he had ever known."' 




General Granl writing Iiis '", Memoirs" at Mniint McGregor 



GENERAL GRANT'S LAST DA^ S 



J/ 



111 cmncrsinu- even on the most serions sul)jects. Lincoln ai)])earc(l 
lo for5:;et all ordinary conventionalities in the earnestness of his pnr- 
pose. When sitting' he had the habit of resting his legs over the arm 
of a chair and swinging his feet wliile talking. At other times, when 
S(|narel\' seated, he wonld clas|i his llexed and U])rai'-ed knee, and 
gentl\- swing himself, while intently snrveying a ])etitioner. Lincoln 
often said that an apt stor\ was the readiest argnment against a 
threatened o\-er-])ersuasion li\ a cliance caller. It was a sin'])rise to 
me to learn from (irant that Lincoln ne\c-r langhcd at his own stories 
— at least at those he told ilie (ieneral. .\l most there wa> a mere 
twitching of a corner of the month and a merr\ t\\ inkle in the w atclilnl 
eye. 

The plainness of manner of (Jeiieral ( irani was the resnlt of a 
natural (lis])osition jirohahK inherited troni hi< moiher. 1 U' showed 
it in all his doings. Tie had accnstomed himself to look at hi^ life work 
from the serious aspect of untiring and concentrated effort. It was 
doing the thing rather than talking about it. Such men. appreciating 
their resi)onsibilities. are modest, reserved, thoughtful, and reticent, 
rile one wlio holds his tongue is alwax's an enig'ma. Such ])ro\ed 
to be the case when, after his great battles, everyl)odv was wondering 
what he liad to sa\' for himself. Tint the results needed no chscus- 
sion. llis natural shyness was IkwoikI the temi^tation of \ainglorv. 
In all his lesser work he was alwa\s the same iiuiet and uiioblrusix'e 
])erson. 

There was a natural antipatln- against dis])lav of an\' kind. Dress 
])arade never ai)pealed to him. In his ordinarv dres> he was the 
l)lainest ot men. Although .always neat in ])erson. he never affected 
anything but the simplest attire. His aim was for ease, not show. In 
most of his ])ortraits there is a conspicuous absence of militar\- ])rim- 
ness. His coat is usually oi)en, and even his waistcoat is partlv unbut- 
toned. The standing collar is convenientlv bent and flared to allow of 
ease of flexion of his short neck, and his cravat is a mere ribbon with a 
carelessly tied bow-knot. Kxce])t for his sturdv build, firm iaw. and 
resolute mouth, there was nothing i^articularly soldier-like in his 
appearance. In the ordinary dress of a well-to-do citizen he might 
have been taken as readilv for a successful merchant or a prosperous 
gentleman farmer as for a great man of affairs. He was accustomed 
to assume easy attitudes while seated. Tt was relaxation rather than 
erectness. His favorite sitting posture was lient and lounging, with 



38 GENERAL GRANT'S LAST DAYS 

hands on ihc arms ol the chair, one ley cnissrd nvcr the nthcr. W hen 
in deep thi>u;4hl he wniild s(unetinies rest his l)ent ell)ii\\s im the arms 
of tile chair and stead}' his hands on the tops of his lini^'ers. hi writ- 
ing, he wiiuld sit at the tal)le sidewise and to the rii^ht. so that he conld 
accommodate himself to his favorite cross-le.i;"i;'ed jxisition. AUhoiij^'li 
his dehcate hand would hold his jjen with easy snp]ileness and j^raceftil 
poise, his handwriting;' was In' no means a work of art. It was incline<l 
to be rapid and jerk}', as if the mechanical execution was irkstjuie. 
Thus he would often omit crossing his t's. and dotting his i's. and 
would occasionally siiell incorrectly. He e\iilentl\' preierred a lead- 
pencil to a ](en as giying him less ti'ouhle. and as ol)\'iating the con- 
stant interruption of dip])ing for ink. 

His methofls in com|)osing were also exceedingly simple. Environ- 
ment had no influence on him. He could write anywhere and anyhow, 
with pad on knee, against a tree, or on a cam])-chest. So at home, 
\\'here\'er he might he. no accessories were essential. He wrote his 
memoirs on an extemporized table which had folding legs, and could 
l)e easily moved from one part of the room to another. All he needed 
was his pad, his notes, and a fe\v sheets of i)lain manila paper. He was 
a slow and ])ainst,aking composer, his aim being to make himself clear 
to the reader. After a long ;ind -tudied effort in framing a descriptix'e 
sentence, he would read it to his triends with all the modesty of a 



^ ..-7 



/ I- 



^- O-^^-^^^^^A 



04.^ 



l>',-K-siniiU- (if a rciii\'or>.itiMnal imu- Inmi (icncral (Irani tn Dr. .Slir,i(l\ . (.See i)age 68) 



(JENHRAL (GRANT'S LAST DAYS ,,9 

sclinol l)(i\ reciting' ;i IfSsoii. A prrliiK'iil (|ucsli(in fruiii lluiii would 
"ivc him the hinl he rtMiuircd. 

At tiuR's he cuuld wurk with urihiiar}- rai)idil_\-, hut ulteii would 
de-vole hours to a short de^eri])tiou of a eoiuiilieateil hattle. lie olteu 
rel'erred to Sheruian's "Meuioirs." n'l'reshiu^ his u'.emory ou ])oiuls 
that he nii.<^ht ha\e uli^-^ed in relating; hi- own >lory. It was toriunale 
for him that earl\ in his sicl^ness he heeame diorouL;hly absorhcd in 
anlhorslii|i. It opened to him an enlirel)' new held hir di\ersion. and 
cnaliled him to jL;et awa\- from him-t'lf and for a lime to lorj^et the 
ad\ance of his relentless malady. 

llis sl\le was sinii)le, tt'r^e, and devoid ..f prdantie ornamentation, 
and was founded in a hterar_\- way on the pracliee ol writing- military 
orders and rejiorts, Nhort, shar]). i)ers])icuou>. and to the point. .\ow 
and then there was a stroke of humor in his relerences, hut e\en this 
lacked the suppleness and art of a i)raetiscd touch. Xol that he did not 
a])i)reciate humor; htit he was not always hai>py in ,^i\in^- it a i^-raceful 
turn. It was the man speakin.^' for himself without special trainiuL;' in 
lilerar\- wurk. In this res))eci his modcsl narrative holds a distinct 
place in lilerar\- histor\. llis aim was to make ex'cry reader under- 
stand what he meant to saw Thai the composition ol the hook was 
pcculiarK' his own no une can douht. 

With those who understood him. ( ieneral ( Irant was alwa_\s Irank, 



^y^fii^d (l.Ui'^f. J^ hv -^^ >^''-^' 



Fac?imile <if a conversational note from General tyrant to Dr. Slirady. (See page 68l 



40 GENERAL GRANT'S LAST DAYS 

courteous, and unassuming. In conversation lie was a considerate and 
patient listener. His comments were brief and modest, but showed a 
ready grasp of the suliject in hand. It was seldom that he branched 
into anv extended discussion, being more inclined in his terse way to 
dissent from or agree with the views of others rather than to volunteer 
anv new jihase of the cjuestion. He apparently weighed matters cjuite 
deliberatelv from his own point of view as a man accustomed to i)lan 
for himself. While he was ready to admit there was another side to 
an argument, his own position was well guarded. As in the lighting 
of his battles, this was the de\-elo])ed caution of judicious antagonism. 
Even when pleasantly chided for his apparently stubborn attitude, he 
had in reserve a ready answer for the disputer. 

An amusing illustration comes to mind in this connection. Mrs. 
Grant was on one occasion mildly complaining of the General's incon- 
sistencv and want of forethought when matters ]iurel\- domestic were 
to be considered. "\\'hen President Garfield was shot," said she, "'we 
were li\-ing at Long Branch, Xew jersey. The General insisted that I 
should move the entire family to Xew \'ork without delay and sug- 
gested the possibility of its being done within two days. When I told 
him of the impossibility of such a procedure on such short notice, he 
rather tantalizingly said that he did not see why there should be much 
difi^icultv in the matter as he had moved at least twice that number of 
people in half the time." The General, who was listening to this illus- 
tration of his thoughtlessness, while keenly amused at the humor of the 
situation, was ai)parently (|uite contented tacitly to acknowledge the 
jilavful rebuke. 

He was earnestly s_\-m])at]ietic, witliout being effusively senti- 
mental. Always considerate of the rights and privileges of others, 
there was in him an unassuming way of acknowledging them. For 
children he had an almost affectionate regard, and was always pleased 
to meet and chat with them. There was something in their innocence 
and playfulness that appealed to him. Of boys he was especially fond, 
and would talk to them in a kind, frank, and fatherly way. On one 
occasion the young son of Dr. Titus ^lunson Coan, who had been a 
Xavv surgeon, was introduced to him. The lad was six years old. and 
his father had solicited the introduction through a friend of the Grant 
family. \Miile the voungster was waiting in the reception-room below, 
word was sent to him to come to the sick-room. He was shown up- 
stairs, and was greeted bv the General as courteouslv and deferentially 



GENERAL GRANT'S LAST DAYS 41 

as if he were one of the great men of the time. Sick as he was, the 
invaHd rose from his chair and with extended hand and pleasant smile 
walked nearl\- half-wav across the room tn meet his young visitor, who 
was overawed, and hereft of all power (ti speech. 

li^H^. ^/-UA^ x^<U Cm/.-w ^,.. /j^/' ' 



a 



Facsimile of a conversational note from (lencral (iraiil to Dr. Slira(l\ . (See page "1 ) 

"I am glad to see von, m\ little man," said the General, l^hili]) 
Coan timidly res])onded to the greeting and murmured a "Thank you," 
as he stared at the kindly face that was bent over him. "What are you 
going to be, my son, when you are grown up — a soldier or a doctor?" 

To the (|uestion there was no answer, and the General, full\- under- 
standing the bashfulness of the boy, took his hand and gently smooth- 
ing his head bade him call again. For the youngster it was a thing- 
long to be remembered: for the plain man in his yellow gown it was the 
display of a simple and fatherly feeling which was his liabit and 
delight. 

His consideration for yoimg people was also strikingly illustrated 
bv his courteous and cordial reception of my daughter Atinnie, then a 
mere girl, and whom he had expressed a special desire to see. Before 
she was ushered into his room he rose to change his wrapper for his 
frock-coat, being determined to be presentable when, as he naively 
said, "young ladies called" ou him. When I protested that this was 
entirely unnecessary in such a case, he insisted upon having his way. 
In referring to the fine weather he asked her, with mock seriousness, 



42 GENERAL GRANT'S LAST DAYS 

if she (lid not lliink licr father was cruel in keepin.i;- him cnnlined to his 
room and in exercising on him such a domineering- sjjirit. pleading that 
she should use her influence to have the sentence mitigated. This at 
once placed tiie voung visitor ou an easy conversational plane, ant! the 
ex])ected embarrassment of the occasion was happily disi)elled. "How- 
e\-er it ma\- he." he remarked. "I have ahva}-s been used to obeying the 
man in couimand." 

Although General Grant liad the repntatiou of being more than 
trustful with his friends, his other relations with men and affairs im- 
pressed him at limes with the desire of many to use him for their own 
purposes. In spite of his habitual sh)-ness. he was forced b>' circum- 
stances to admit that he was a public character and that all his doings 
were measured in the exacting balance of propriety and policy. This 
thought kept him more or less on his guard with strangers. He was 
thus forced to question the usual motives that governed the a])])eals of 
outsiders, and was often suri>rised at the comjiaralively trivial circum- 
stances that governed them. On one occasion an imjiortunate army 
veteran succeeded in gaining an audience with him in his sick-room on 
the plea of in(|uiring about his health and of bringing a message from 
rm armv comrade. In the course of the conversation the General asked 
in a friendlv wav concerning his visitor's occujialion. when he was 
informed of a wonderful meat extract for which the man was an 
agent. True to the instincts of the \-endor. the article was i)roduced, 
and the usual sami)les were thrust upon the ])atient. 

Many other agents, however, were not so fortunate in introducing 
their wares. Alanv samjjles were sent l)y ex])ress to the house, accom- 
panied by absurd stories as to their virtues. To gratify a craze for 
notoriety, numbers of people who had no i)ersonal ac(|uaintance with 
the sick man would ostentatiousl_\- call, and after leaving their cards at 
the door, would x'ield to the eager (|uestioning of the reporters. 

Alwavs considerate for others, (irant was inclined to be more than 
ch:n-ita1)le in his inter])retation of apparently interested motives. .\s a 
l)ublic man he was accustomed to meet the ordinary place-hunter with 
;i (/;//(/ pro ijiin. b^-om such a ])oint of view he had al)undance of op- 
])orlunities for stud\'ing human char.acter when it \vas actuated l)y 
purelv selfish interest. Modest in his own claims, he was slow to be 
imjiressed with the person who lauded his own superior fitness for 
position. Thus it soon became known that he selected his advisers and 
those clo.sest to him in official capacity by his own estimate of their 



GExNERAL GRAiNT'S LAST DAYS 43 

merit. He picked liis men as a skilled workman would his tools. And 
the pul)lic was not slow in crediting" his capacity and discernment for 
such purposes. 

At one time sex'cral nf liis ])uliiical enemies o])prol)riciusly termed 
him the "■gift-taker." so numerous were these apparently friendly 
offers made to him, and frankly accepted in good faith, as evidences of 
personal esteem. After a while he Ijcgan to interpret intentions from 
an entirely difiereiU point of view. In this connect ion 1 recollect his 
reference to a gift from a gentleman in Chicago that was so ])urelv a 
friendl}- one that the donor had neither hefore nor after asked him for 
a fa\-or. 

While always studiously courteous to strangers, acknowledging 
their respectful salutes and e\er read\- to show them polite attentions. 
he not infre(|uentl_\- resented any ill-hred attem])ts at familiarity. He 
was so considerate in this regard himself that he would not tolerate 
any breach of ordinary eti(|uette hv others. ( )n one occasion, while on 
a ferry-hoat crossing the ri\er from jersey I'ity. he was (|uietly enjoy- 
ing his cigar in the smoking saloon when an impudent and loud- 
speaking young man sat down hy him and said familiarly: "Good 
morning. General. T 'm glad to see you looking so well." The saluta- 
tion was returned in a studiously formal manner. "You still like v(uu- 
smoke. I see." A k^ok, ])Ut no answer. "Sav, General, can't vou give 
a fellow a light?" 

The General, surprised and annoyed, handed his cigar to the 
stranger, who in due time returned it. much the worse for the fumbling 
it had recei\-ed. Whereupon the General, on receiving it. looked at it 
for a moment, and then (|uite unconcernedly threw it out of a window 
at his back. 

Grant's love for the horse was a veritable i)assion. and datetl from 
boyhood. At ^^'est Point. Cadet Grant was the best rider in his class. 
In after life to own a trotter was always a tem]itation. After he be- 
came famous, and his taste was known, he had manv opportunities for 
testing his skill in driving noted animals, as when ^Ir. A'anderbilt's 
"Maud S." was lent to him for a s]iin. '"The finest mare I ever drove.'' 
Grant would say. On one occasion, at least, he met a driver who 
valiantlv vindicated the rights of the road in a way that quite aston- 
ished him. AMiile spending a summer in Long Branch, the General 
would take a daily drive behind a noted trotter. By courtesy, although 
often against his wish, he was always given a free and open course. 



44 GENERAL GRANT'S LAST DAYS 

One day while (juietly jogijin^- aloiij^" Ik- nuticed in a casual way a 
farmer and his wife who, with sinj^le horse and errand-wagcju. \vere 
iust ahead, evidenth- returning;' from market. ( )n attempting" to "draw 
alongside" and i)ass the con])le. there was a race on in a moment. 
The farmer sim|)]\' chiri)ed in a ])eculiar way, and his horse S(|tiatted 
into a long-gaited and eas\- irot. Altogether it \\as a veritahle sur- 
prise to the other drixer. with his "professional trotter" and light 
road-wagon. lUit the farmer ke])t the lead in s])ite of Grant's efforts 
to overtake him. ( )ccasionall\' through the dust he could see the 
farmer's wife look back to note their relatixe positions. Finally, after 
a mile heat, the farmer "slowed u])" a little to allow the General to 
come w ithin hearing distance. 

"Did he know who it was, (ieneral? " (iranl was asked. 

"Oh, yes," he re])lied. "The man simplv said, 'General, you '\'e got 
a good one,' and then 1 allowed him to go on." 

In referring to courage in l)attle. Grant was inclined to l)elie\e that 
it was a cultivated (|ualit_\' rather than an inherent trait. The instinct 
of self-preservation was inhorn. and was governed h}- natural im- 
jjulses. There was always a great difference between foolhardiness 
and a dutiful effort to face danger in any form. A genuine scare was 
the first and the best lesson. There were few men who were not in- 
clined to run when thev lieard w hi.slling bullets for the lirst time. The 
fear of being called a coward was tlien the main thing that held them. 
The courage that lasted was that which thoroughly appreciated danger 
and boldly faced it. He confessed to this ,is a personal e.\])erience. PI is 
first engagements were matters of discipline in this regard. The only 
comfort was in the hope that the enem\- might be tlie one who was 
more afraid than he was, and would decamp lirst. He realized such a 
])ossibility in his early militar\- career, and always afterward ke])t it in 
mind when in a tight ])lace. A man was often like a skittish hor>e: 
he must first l)e made to see and ap])roach the object of his fear; and 
thereafter he might "dulv exercise his horse sense." 

The story of General Grant's sick-room was, as all the world knows, 
a sad one. \\'ith no desire to display the harrowing- side of his phys- 
ical suffering, 1 still wish to describe the manner in which he bore his 
trials under the man_\- adverse circumstances which tested to the 
utmost his remarkable fortitude, stubbornness of will, and Christian 
philosophy. 1 lis wonderful self-control, which seldom deserted him, 
not only made him the least comi)laining, but the most dutiful, of 







'_> y 



rt ^ O > C 



4> H '" - 



!- C . i> 



O iSf- 



o 



S t: ;: a 

fe -^ 5 ■-■ 

- s s 

S >< " 



I 



„GENERAL GRANT'S LAST DAYS 47 

patients. The study of his dillereut moods in his long wait lor death 
was a re\elalion in resignation which could never go unheeded. To 
ht oneself to the burden of sickness requires time and patience. It 
was at first hard for him to submit to the ine\ital)le. \ lew the situa- 
tion as he might, there was still the ominous shadow o\er his imme- 
diate future. The willing submission to fate strains the strongest 
philosophy. Still, like others under like circumstances, he resolved to 
face the enemy, and trust to adapting himself to new conditions. This 
explained his deep gloom when the real nature of his malady was hrst 
announced to him. It was this discipline that was necessary for the 
few working days left to him. Tlie only relief in the situation was to 
make the most of the remaining o])portunities, and sluljbornly persist 
to the end. 'i'hen came the reaction that readjusted the burden. Becom- 
ing more used to the mental depression, it was the m(.>re easily borne. 
He admitted the fact, and bra\ely trudged along under heavy marching- 
orders. This desirable change for the better was duly noted by those 
around him, and every effort was made by them to divert his mind into 
new channels of thought, it thus became his necessity to devote him- 
self afresh to the completion of his memoirs. 

In spite of the calm manner in which he would discuss his fate, it 
was evident that he resolved to be prepared for every emergenc}'. He 
seemed more eager tlian ever to do things on the spur of the moment, 
in order that nothing should be left undone toward the last. This dis- 
position was illustrated in him when he was asked for a picture of 
himself with his autograph. This particular instance may be worthy 
of special record, inasmuch as it may be associated in times to come 
with another incident of historical interest in his own family. Al- 
though still feeble from his recent set-back, the General walked at once 
to the adjoining room, sat down at his table, turned to Colonel Grant, 
who w^as near, and said, "Bring me one of the ^Marshall pictures for 
the Doctor." The selection of the particular engraving proved his 
preference for it. Whenever he presented a picture of himself to any 
of his close friends, it was always a copv of the engraving bv William 
E. Marshall. 

I then suggested that the General might sign one for each of the 
other members of the medical staff— Doctors Douglas, Sands, and 
Barker. This he accordingly did, the Colonel carefullv arranging 
them on the table for the signatures to dry. 

\'\'hen the General was about to rise, the son in a quiet and impres- 



48 GENERAL GRANT'S LAST DAYS 

sivc manner said: " blather, 1 wonld like you to sign this also," at the 
same time handing him a letter. This was a letter to some future 
President, asking him to appoint the General's grandson, Ulysses 
third, to West Point, ^^'ithout dipping his pen in ink again, the Gen- 
eral attached his name to this letter. It was done quietly, but in view 
of the circumstances, the action was dramatic. \'oung Ulysses, the 
son of Colonel (irant, was then a mere boy. We all knew that when 
the letter should Ije presented. General Grant would have b'een many 
vears in his grave. It was only a (juestion of months, perhaps weeks, 
when the hand that held the j)en would be stilled forever. Altogether 
it was a situation that had in it much pathos. It meant a benediction 
for the future soldier. I believe the others must have been e(|ually 
impressed, for after the scratching of the pen had ceased there was 
absolute silence in the room while Colonel Grant carefully folded the 
letter and gently led his father away. 



Ill 




?J'1XI''.1\AI. (iRAXT'S voice was sofl, dec]), and dislincl, 
and his s|ieecli deliheralc. (|uict. and e\'cn-tiined. In 
(.■(in\x'rsati(in he was inclined to use sliort senleiices, 
with few if any qualifications. It was an effort to ^et 
at the point in the surest and most direct wa\-. 1 le was 
always readv to hear the \iews of others. His a])]iarent]\' inchfferent 
nianner and al)stracte(l air were apt to impress the s])eaker as lack of 
attention. lUit this seemed {o he his method of ahsorl)ing thins^'s. Then 
would come a strino- of pertinent (juestions, which ])roved conclusively 
that he had not lost a point. He was hv un means inclined to lon^;- 
argument, and nuich less to dis])Utation. Having imce made up his 
mind on a suhject, he was silent, stuhhorn, and determined. 

His temper was under such complete control that no one could 
believe he had any. Never o];)enly demonstrative in any direction, he 
appeared the same under all conditions. When he was depressed, he 
was simjjly silent : when he was cheerful, he merely smiled. Even in 
his best moods I never heard him laugh outright. Thus he was in no 
sense emotionally demonstrative, and in his natural composure he 
exemplified the highest type of cultivated gentility. His little manner- 
isms were in no way eccentric or peculiar. These were onl\- interesting 
as giving casual expression to his individualitv. 

Not long 1)efore he was taken ill. he was lamed bv a fall on his hip, 
and was obliged to walk with a cane. Although many ornamental 
walking-sticks had been presented to him bv fairs, military societies, 

49 



50 GENERAL GRAiNT'S LAST DAYS 

ladies, and his many personal friends, he preferred to use a plain hick- 
ory one with ordinary curved handle. This was in constant use 
wherever he went. e\en in going from one room to another. 

When he dozed in a sitting position, his hands would be crossed in 
his lap, his head would be Iwwed. and his feet would rest on the chair 
opposite him. When lying in bed or on a lounge, he still retained the 
soldier fashion of merelv covering the lower ])ortion of his body, and 
seemed to prefer resting squarely on his back. 

In his \-arious movements there was no approach to awkwardness. 
His hands were alwavs easily composed, were seldom used in gesture, 
and were supple and firm in their grasp. His tread was also firm, and 
his step had an easy stride, notwithstanding his temporary lim|). 

A slow and careful reader, he appeared to weigh extvy word, and 
would often keep the ])lace in the line by his jwinted finger, and look 
awav as if to fix more firmh' in his mind the idea conveyed. 

His sleep was often disturl)C(l by dreams, but they were the reflex 
of his ])hvsical conditions. .Vt one time an extra pain in his throat gave 
him the impression of ha\ing Iieen hit in the neck with a cannon-ball. 
(Jn ancither occasion he dreamed of Ijeing choked by a footpad on a 
lonely road. 

His evesight was remarkably clear for distant objects, as was often 
demonstrated in the liroad outlooks from Mount McGregor. This was 
evidently due, in part at least, to his military training in that respect. 
In using a field-glass, one hand was sufficient, the focal adjustment 
being made liv his forefinger and thumb. This, too, was plainly the 
unconscious cnUcome of long ])ractice. Glasses were always necessary 
for reading or writing, his preference being for ordinary liorn-rimmcd 
spectacles with large, round eyejiieces. 

^^'hen rumors were current of the impending death of the General, 
no eft'orts were spared bv the press of the country to obtain accurate 
information of his actual condition. For a time it was reported that 
he was merelv suffering from a chronic throat aft'ection that promised 
soon to be relieved. But it was not until the formal consultation was 
held in his case, months after his first symptoms appeared, that the 
public was ofticiallv informed of the gra\-e and fatal character of his 
maladv. From that time every symptom as given in the bulletin was 
freely discussed. After a period of private life as an ordinary citizen, 
he was again an obiect of absorbing interest. So long accustomed to 
be in the public eve, he Aicwed the situation as a matter of course, and 




o 






bi „• 



GENERAL GRANT'S LAST DAYS 53 

resignedly subniilted lu ihe elaborate, fulsunie, and often exagg'erated 
accounts of his l)ehavior in the sick-room. To meet this urgent demand 
for details, he was forced to consent to the issue of bulletins to the 
general public. It was onl\- b_\- such means that the iruih could be told 
and ctu'iosity satisfied. 

The proper jireparation of the press-notices was a matter of great 
moment with the medical staff. Bearing in mind the many mistakes 
made in the case of 1 'resident (iarfield, in which comradictory and 
misleading" bulletins were published, it was deemed imperative to state 
exact facts, with the full sanction of the medical men in attendance 
and also that of the family. The arrangements for the distribution of 
these despatches were elaborate and systematic. Three bulletin-boys 
were in constant attendance in ilie main hall, representing respectively 
the Western Union telegraph and cable service, the Associated Press, 
and the L'nited Press. Each message, ap])ro])riately directed, was 
passed to the proper messenger, who would run with it to the nearest 
office of his company. 

The general clearing-house for news was in the basement of a 
small hottse on the east side of Madison Avenue sottth of Sixtv-sixth 
Street, and there were assembled the representatives of the Associated 
Press and the different leading dailies of the city. All the newspapers 
also had special wires to their central downtown offices. Reporters 
"covering the case" were so constantly on guard in the street that it 
seemed imix)ssible for anything- of importance to occur in the house 
without their knowledge. At the end of every consultation there was 
a group of anxious interviewers, who plied the medical men with ques- 
tions. As there was ne\er an_\- other disposition than to tell the ])Iairi 
trttth of the situation, all necessary satisfaction regarding the true 
import of the bulletins was easily obtained. Each journalist was con- 
stantly on the alert for new facts, his aim being to use them exclu- 
sively, and thus, in [jress parlance, to "Ijeat" his confreres. To that end 
all sorts of devices were used. The doctors were speciallv besieged 
even in their homes ; more than once inside facts were olitained bv 
sending "dummy" patients, who, pretending to fear a similar disease 
to that of Grant, would ask many pertinent questions as to the nature 
of such a malady and its usual ending. Then, to the astonishment and 
dismay of the doctor, the conversation wmild appear as a formal news- 
]iaper interview. 

There was scarcely a limit to the endeavors of such enterprising 



54 GEiNERAL GRANT'S LAST DAYS 

news-gatherers. One (jf them, in (.)rder to gain a vantage-ground over 
his fellows, ventured attectionate advances to a chanilierniaid in one o£ 
the houses opposite, so that while calling upon his new acquaintance, 
he might have a better opportunity of watching from a commanding 
window. Another bribed one of the servants of the Grant domicile in 
order to gain access to the back yard and signal to a mounted con- 
federate who was watching on Fifth Avenue across the then vacant lot 
on the corner. 

As at that time, althottgh for no obvious reason, the death of the 
General was momentarily expected, it was considered a matter of the 
greatest importance to get the earliest possible news of the sad event. 
For this ])urpose rela_\s were constantly posted to keep watch. In 
stormy weather these men would take shelter in the areaways under 
the stoops, and would dodge out when a carriage approached the house 
or a visitor mounted the doorsteps. The lighting- of any room but the 
sick chaml)er wnuld call together a group of sentinels on the opposite 
side of the street, who would pace ti]) and down the sidewalk often 
during the entire night, awaiting some new de\-elopmeni. 

For obvious reasons no unfavorable change in symptoms was dis- 
cussed in the presence of the General, and it was only after the official 
bulletins were published that he had knowledge of the fact. As he 
insisted on reading his favorite i)apers. there was no way of keeping 
him in desirable ignorance of his actual condition. Me would stttdy 
the accounts with great care, and put liis o\\n interpretation on their 
significance. This disposition was in keejiing with that of his habit of 
noting" his pulse-beat by his watch while a consultation was in progress. 

He was often much amused by the stories told of him, of his habits, 
plans, and moods, but \\as always willing to forgi\-e the newsmongers 
for what they did not knou'. At other times he appeared to be much 
saddened bv the gloomv prognostications that were ventured in the 
various papers. After reading one of the bulletins he was constrained 
to remark: "Doctor, you did not give a \ery favorable account of me 
yesterday." This was in spite of the fact that every care was taken to 
prevent alarm on his account as to his actual condition. 

AA'ith a slowly ]M-ogressing disease it was natural to expect that the 
bulletins would have a certain sameness of description and a monotony 
of weary hopefulness. IMany of the newspapers were constantly 
straining a point to infuse a sensational element into their reports. 
The plain truth did not offer enough for varied and spicv reading. 



GENERAL GRANT'S LAST DAYS 



00 



Then came the reaction of the disappointment, with a suspicion that 
the doctors had given false reports and that there had heen a grave 
mistake in the diagnosis of the original disease. This was made prob- 
al)le ])}■ the fact that many of the distressing symptoms had disap- 
peared for a time, and also by the anxious but ill-founded expectation 
that the General would ultimately recover, in spite of previous predic- 
tions. Although it was a matter for congratulation that such a tem- 
porary relief from suffering had been gained, ihere was ne\er any 
change of opinion with 
true nature of the 
ficulty in swallowing 
that the patient ven- 
solid food. He was so 
opportunity that while 
chop in his dining- 
himself on being' able 
ers with his ability to 
sidered a remarkable 
ability was short-lived, 
occasion in the long 
strained expectations. 
firmlv settled in the 




Mxtt-rior of the Drexcl cottatie. 

Mount Mcdreeor. 

Xew York 



ihe staff regarding the 
malady. Once the dif- 
had so far disappeared 
tured to indulge in 
delighted with such an 
lunching on a mutton 
room, he felicitated 
to surprise the report- 
perl orm what lie con- 
feat, lint, alas! this 
and was a mere chance 
struggle with over- 
The General was too 
belief of the real na- 
ture of his malady to l)e inrtuenced by the critical tone of the press 
regarding the alleged incompetence of his ])hysicians. These attacks 
were not only abusive in the extreme, but oftentimes they were posi- 
tively libelous. One morning after one of these articles had appeared 
in an editorial in one of the Xew York dailies, the General, wlio was 
an attentive student of the discussion, asked me how I felt after such 
a virulent attack on my professional character. When I answered to 
the effect that the staff was right despite the criticism, he so far ac- 
quiesced as to say that he was perfectly satisfied with the medical 
treatment of his case, and that he was the person \\ho n.atur.alh- was 
most interested in the course taken. 

This comment led to a question as to how he had treated the manv 
newspaper criticisms to which he had been subjected in his long pulilic 
career. He remarked simply that he never read the papers containing 
them, and was always too busy with more important matters to notice 
the vaporings of scrifililers who were willing to give free and valueless 
lessons on matters of which they knew little or nothing. "If a man 



56 GENERAL GRANT'S LAST DAYS 

assumes the responsibility of doing a thing," continued he, "he natu- 
rally does it his own way, and the result is the only proof, after all, that 
he may be right nr wrong. One does the work, and the other does the 
guessing." 

A\'hen the tables were turned against the doctors, ridiculing bulle- 
tins were printed, to give new point to the situation. In violation of all 
principles of good taste, the relations of medical attendant and patient 
were reversed, and ( Irant was represented as resenting the officiousness 
of the doctors by a promise to aid in restoring their weak niental and 
physical conditions. From the first the staff was accused of magnify- 
ing the situation, and much felicitation was manifested by many news- 
paper writers that the trick had at last been discovered. Outside 
friends of the family covertly advised a change of medical consultants, 
and numerous applications to such an end came from influential poli- 
ticians throughout the country. So annoying were these importunities, 
that the General became personally interested in declaring his con- 
fidence in the men whom he himself had selected. He appeared to be 
particularly indignant at the charge that there had been an error in 
diagnosis, and asked that the true state of facts be explained to the 
public in a long bulletin, which was published after receiving his ap- 
proval. 

The publication of this document had the desired effect of silencing 
further criticism on the subject. It seemed then impossible to start a 
quarrel among the physicians in attendance, and the usual medical 
scandal in a ca.se of such national interest was thus most happily 
averted. This result was also in great part due to the care to state onlv 
the exact truth in all the bulletins, and to obtain a unaniniitv of opinidii 
from the entire staff' before publication was ])ermitted. Whatever 
misconception by the public might have existed of the true condition of 
affairs in the sick-room was due to the statements of visitors to the 
house who would give their ])ersonal views concerning the condition 
of the patient to the crowd of interviewers who awaited them on the 
sidewalk. The absurd story that the General was at one time .suffering 
merely from an ordinary inflammation of the throat gained currencv 
in this wav, and gave the first impression that the physicians had 
undulv alarmed the public. The General himself always took a re- 
signed and philosophical view of the situation. His simple wi.shes 
were to be free from constant pain, to be able to swallow his food with- 
out strangling, and to make the most of the time that was left him 



GENERAL GRANT'S LAST DAYS 57 

1(1 linisli lii^ work, lie was \irtuall\ in the ijosiliun nl nuv wlm was 
settling; his affairs before startin}4- on a forced journey. I lis liahil ot 
mind made sni-li rcsiq-nation |)ossil)le. i^on^- accuslonied lo take his 
life in his hands and lo face death in the emer.y-encies of battle, he was 
nol one to manifest fear when the cud seemed inevilable. Me would 
often speak of it with a calnniess that conld not be shaken. Me was 
sim])l\- livino- each da\ b\- itself in the hope that there would be no 
distressful slruj^tjie at the last. 1 lis apprehensions in this regard were 
reasonably well founde(k as in his imiuiriiii^' way he reasoned that the 
progress of the ailment would either arrest his breathinj;' or pixwent his 
taking- proper nourishment. 

Tt was fortunate under the circumstances that his thought was 
centered on his '"Memoirs." inasmuch as when he lorced himsell to 
write or dictate he was thus able to distract his attention Irom his 
condition, ilence e\erv encouragement was given him to do as he 
pleased in such regard He often remarked tliat his book was destined 
to be liis own salvation as well as tliat of his familw rims he would sit 
and write wlien most men would ha\e been abed and under the in- 
fluence of an anodyne. 

The General's concern for hel]). when his time should come for 
needing it. was often manifested in what might otjierwise ha\'e ap- 
|)eared to be casual c<in\'ersations. In an impressixe talk with me on 
one occasion, he o])tained a ])romise that T would ])e with him without 
fail at the last. So an.xious was he that notliing should intertere with 
such an understanding, that he questioned me concerning my where- 
abouts and future plans in m\- necessarv absences from Motmt Mc- 
Gregor. On leai'uing that m\- summer home was at my farm on the 
Hudson, near Kingston, he was ])articular to learn how long it would 
take me to reach him in response to an urgent message, .\fter cross- 
ing the river, the railroad starting-point would be Rarrvtown. He 
wished to know the distance from that point to Poughkeepsie. where a 
special locomoti\-e could be obtained. Then, in order to master every 
detail of the trip, he indicated the route on a ])iece of wra])i)ing-])a|)er. 
and smilingly styled it "a working jilan of battle." Alas! he had 
planned many such before. l)ut none in which he could have been more 
personally interested. T was quite surprised at his knowledge of the 
topography of the countrv and his a|)preciation of relative distances. 
A line was made across the river to Rarrytow'u. a s])ur to Pough- 
keepsie, a straight course northward through PTudson, Alban\', and 



58 



GENERAL GRANT'S LAST DAYS 




rroiii a phntoiirrtpll by Ciliiiiui 

The sick-rnniii in the Drexel eottage. Mount McGregor 

The two large cliairs were General Grant's bed. The cabinet in the corner contained Hnen. 
medicine, and other articles used by the (leneral. 



Saratoga, and a slight detour to ^IcGregor. The probable time be- 
tween these places was dulv indicated at projjcr points, and the total 
added at the bottom of the sheet. What became of ibis ])apcr, which 
was evidently (Irant's last "plan of battle," I did not ascertain. He 
simply folded it, and placed it in a side pocket, and there was no sub- 
setpient occasion for referring to the subject in m_\' presence. 

With the first formal consultation of the surgical statf, the ad- 
visability of an operation was thoroughly discussed, and arguments 
were made against any such efforts to relieve him. Thus the treatment 
of the case was narrowed to such efforts as might be necessary to 
guard ag'ainst possible complications and to make him as comfortable 
as possible bv assuaging his ])ain and keeping his throat clear of an 
accidental accumulatitm of secretions. The wisdom of such a decision 
was manifested in s])aring him tmnecessary mutilation and allowing 
him to pass the remainder of his davs in comparative comfort. Rela- 



GENERAL GRANT'S LAST DAYS 59 

tively, however, it meant sulTering for liiin iiiuil the end. His great 
apprehension was that he might be suddenly choked during his sleep. 
After a severe spell of threatened sufifocation during the night of 
March 2yth, this became a fixed conviction. Although quickly relieved 
at the time, he became so nmch tlemoralized concerning a possible re- 
currence of such troul)les, that he passed his tlays and nights thereafter 
in a sitting position, with his feet resting on a chair. 

The hurried call for Dr. Douglas and myself at the time of his fu-st 
choking spell so alarmed the reporters on watch in the street that they 
gave currency to the probability that the General was in a \er\- critical 
condition and that his death might be expected at an\ hour. Later, a 
similar announcement was made, based upon tlie occurrence (if an 
accidental hemorrhage from the throat due to the separation of an 
inflammatory exudation that for days had clogged his breathing. 'Hie 
bleeding was quickly arrested In- simi)le means, and he then felt so 
much relieved in his Ijreathing and his increased ability to swallow that 
many of his friends believed that he might actually con(|uer the orig- 
inal disease. The press w^as also eager to adopt this optimistic view, 




photo^T.-iph by Gil 

Tile room in which General Grant died 

This room was the "parlor" of the Drexel cottage. Mount McGregor. The bed in the corner 

was placed there only a short time before General Grant's death, as he had been 

sleeping in a sitting posture in the chairs shown on the previous page. 



6o GENERAL GRANT'S LAST DAYS 

and it required no little persuasion on the part of the staff to assure the 
public that, in spite of the temporary change for the better, all the 
symptoms were progressing slowly to the inevitable end. 

Only on one occasion had there l)een any danger of sudden col- 
lapse, and this was on the night of April 5th, when the General, 
believing he was dying, summoned his family to his chair and asked 
that Dr. Newman, his faithful minister and friend, should baptize him. 
The sinking spell occurred about three o'clock in the morning. There 
was warning of this possible condition during the previous day, and it 
was deemed best that 1 should remain at the house in case any threat- 
ened change for the worse should show itself. While I )r. Douglas 
was watching the patient, J was hastily summoned from an adjoining 
bedroom bv the startling announcement that the General was dying. 
The sufferer was evidenth' in an extremely weak condition. He was 
sittine in his chair as usual, with head bowed on chest, and was breath- 
ing in a labored way, feebly bidding farewell to his family, and striving 
to leave final directions regarding the completion of the second volume 
of his "Memoirs." His voice was scarcely audilile, and his sentences 
were interrupted 1)\' painful gaspings for breath. The Rev. Dr. New- 
man was standing ])ehind the chair with a small silver l^owl in hand, 
repeating in solemn tones: "Ulysses Simpson Grant, I baptize thee in 
the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost." The General feebly 
responded, "1 thank vou." and was evidently becomingly impressed 
with the solemnity of the proceeding. During this affecting scene hypo- 
dermics of brandy were repeatedly administered, and to the bystanders 
it appeared as if the suff'erer had been almost miraculously snatched 
from death. In fact, it was so reported to the press, and much was 
made of a verv ordinar\- method of treatment in such cases. Dr. N^ew- 
man was especially astonished at the sudden change for the Ijetter, and 
emphatically remarked that it was due to the prayer that had just been 
oft'ered. With a similar gratification in the physical responsiveness of 
the patient, T was inclined to attril)nle the result to the brandy. This 
circumstance afforded the press a fine opportunity for discussing the 
relative merits of prayer and brandy, and for a long time many oppo- 
site views on the (|uestion were freely ventilated. 

Virtuallv confined to his room during his stay in Sixty-sixth Street, 
General Grant would sometimes realize the irksomeness of his con- 
dition, and strive to amuse himself In' walking from one apartment to 
the other, playing solitaire by Jiis open fire, viewing the watching 



GEiNERAL GRANT'S LAST DAYS 6i 

crowds on tlie street below, or welcoming some of the maii_\- friends 
who came to sympathize with him. OccasionaU}- a j)ara(hng regiment 
would halt opposite the house and present arms, whereupon he would 
appear at his window and modestly and sadly acknowledge the salute. 

On his last Easter Sunday there was more than the usual gathering 
on the street and op])osite sidewalk. The General was nmch impressed 
bv this evidence of good feeling toward himself. Vor a while he stood 
silent at the window, and after walking back and forth through the 
room, sat by the fire, absorlx'd in deep thought. Only the Wednesday 
previous he had fallen almost into a state of col!a])se, and had reason 
to realize how near he had come to death, .\lthough he had fully 
rallied, he was still in that state of mind in wliicli he was keenly alive 
to every evidence of sympathy. Also, only the day before, he had re- 
ceived a verv friendlv and condolator}- letter from Jefferson Davis, 
which gratified and touched him deei)ly. .\fter a while, feeling tired, 
he slei)t in liis chair. During iliai time there was a slight shower, 
and the numerous gatherings of people scattered in different direc- 
tions. When he awoke, the rain had ceased, and the street became 
more crowded than e\er, the i)olice being ke])t busy in clearing the 
roadwav for iiassing \ehicles and for the carriages of visitors to the 
hottse. 

\\"hen he awoke, T told him what had occurred, and referred to the 
interest that was manifested by all classes of citizens. He walked to 
the window, looked U])on the crowd below, and sadly remarked: ■'^ es. 
I am ver\- grateful for their symi)athy."' Then taking his seat by the 
fire, he was (|uiet again. As I was preparing to write the usual after- 
noon bulletin, T suggested that the o])portunit\- would be a good one 
for him to express his gratitude to the people of the covmtry, especially 
on Easter Sundav, when all the churches had been ()ttering ])rayers on 
his account. I tirged that the bulletin be dictated in the first person, 
and signed bv General Grant, as in such form it wottld aj^pear as com- 
ing more directly from him. To this sug'gestion. however, he objected, 
saying that it would lie lietter coming from him indirectly. Tn order to 
comply with such a wisli, and give the document somewhat the char- 
acter of a message from the sick-room. I began by saying that General 
Grant had just awakened from a short nap and had expressed himself 
as feeling comfortable. He then dictated the following: "He wishes 
it stated that he is verv much touched l)v. and very grateful ior. the 
synipathv and interest manifested for him by his friends." — here he 



62 



GENERAL GRANT'S LAST DAYS 



hesitated for a while and continued, — "and l)y those who have not been 
regarded as such." 

Impressed with the great significance of the message, I still urg-ed 
that he should say something in the first person. "Well," remarked 
he, "\-ou might sav for me, I desire the good-will of all. whether here- 
tofore friends or not." Tn a moment he added, "I su|)p(ise that will 




Till- fuiKTal iirocession up Filth .\veiuiL- 

The cat-ifalqiif hearing the body of C.eneral Grant is shown nearing Thirty-fourth Street, 
in front of the Astor residences. 



do," and 1 accnrdingly signed the hulletin. gi\ing the hour as 5:15 ^- M- 
The despatch was immediately sent to the press-bureau on Aladison 
Avenue, and tjuicklv put u])on the wires. As this bulletin really came 
from the General himself, and was dulx- approwd b_\- him, no family or 
stall consultaliim im its contents w;is deemed necessary. Tt hapi)ened. 
however, that a different course would have avoided a subse(|uent 
com])lication which gave the Associated Press some trouble to over- 
come. A few minutes after the bulletin had been sent, ^Irs. Grant 



GENERAL GRANT'S LAST DAYS 63 

came into the room, and --he was told what had l)een dune, and the 
messao-e was read tn her. .She then \-ery mnch deplored the omission 
of anv reference to tlie numerous jjrayers that had heen offered for the 
General on that day. and insisted that the hulletin ])e recalled, in order 
that the necessary correction might l)e made. This, for the time being, 
seriously com])licated the situation. The message was already in tlie 
hands of the teleg"ra])h and cal)le oi)erators, and was being ra])idly 
transmitted to the numerous Inilletin stations. To reconstruct it, and 
retain its full meaning, would have altered its original |)urpose. Be- 
sides, anv attem])t in stich a direction would not be understood by the 
public, and would gi\e a false im])ression of the original intention of 
the sender. It was then a ([uestion of altering the btilletin as little as 
possible, and thus avoiding unnecessary comi)lications. Mrs. (irant 
was very insistent, however, in regard to the ]:)ropriety of her i)ro])osi- 
tion. At this jtmctiu'e I sug'gested that the dithcuh\- might be over- 
come by inserting the word "iiraverful" before s\-mpathy. This being- 
agreed to. 1, at the Cieneral's suggestion, communicated at once with 
the press-bureau on Madison Aventie, and the re(|uired word was 
added to the various despatches that had alread\' been transmitted. 

iMeanwhile. the press-agents had been much exercised regard- 
ing the reason for recalling a bulletin that contained so much of "news 
interest." Mr. Frank W. [Mack, who had charge of the Associated 
Press agency, was greatlv alarmed, su])posing that some extraordi- 
nary calamity had occtn-red. 1 le liin-ried to the house, thinking that the 
General had died suddenly after the message had ])een dictated. 
"\Miat can be done?" said he. "The bulletin is now in .San Francisco 
— in fact, all over the countr\- and in luiro])e!" W hen f told him of 
tlie mere addition of an extra word to the context, he was much re- 
lieved, and hastened to com|)]\- with the re(|uest of the General. 

As was antici])ated, the bulletin attracted more than ordinary at- 
tention. The Southern papers particitlarly had many kind comments 
on the motives actuating the message, and more than e\er syni])athized 
with the stricken mrui, wIk) coulil so feelinglv voice the sentiments of 
a kind and noble heart. Rei)eated references were made bv them to 
the General's magnanimous jiroposals when accepting Fee's surrender 
at Appomattox, and to other actions of his in keeping with the senti- 
ments of a high-minded and generous victor. \A'ith him war had a 
different definition from mere enmit\-. It meant fidelity to a princii)le. 
not mere death, destruction, and humiliation for the opponent. The 



64 GENERAL GRANT'S LAST DAYS 

hand that had so vahantly lield the sword was then open to aU, 
"whether heretofore friends or not." The dying man had said, "Let 
us have peace." and ])osterity was destined to cherish the sentiment as 
the best of all inscriptions for tlie tomb at Riverside-. 

With the approach of warm weather there were many suggestions 
concerning the advisaljility of benefiting the patient by change of air 
and a temporarv sojourn in a more salubrious climate. Then came 
offers from \-arious countrv-hotel ])roprictors to care for the General 
and his family free of expense. Most of these were actuated l)y sincere 
motives, but not a few were made for advertising ])urposes. It was 
finallv decided to accei)t the invitation of Mr. Drexel to occupy his 
cottage on Mount McGregor, a few miles north of Saratoga. The 
patient expressed no ])articnlar ])reference in the matter, and as usual 
acceded to the wislics of his medical staff'. Accordingly, on June i/th, 
a special car was ])lace(l at his service, and he left his city home, never 
again to enter il. lie was resigned to the situation, and gave no in- 
dication of anv misgiving as to the ultimate outcome of the venture. 
Onlv once did he seem to realize that he was leaving his home forever, 
when, after being seated in the carriage, he gave a sad look at the 
house, while he wa\'ed a solemn adieu to a few bystanders on the side- 
walk. 

( )n his arrival at Mount McGregor, he was nmch pleased with his 
quarters, and was confident that the change would, in a measure at 
least, restore his wasting strength. ( )nl\- shortly before, he had so 
nearlv lost his voice that it was painful for him to converse. This new 
phase of the disease was a great discouragement to him, and his m;iin 
hope was that the ])alsaniic air of the mountains might possibly have a 
soothing and healing effect upon his throat. .Such, however, did not 
prove to be the case: on the contrary, the difficulty of articulation 
progressed to such an extent that he was forced to answer questions 
in writing. In fact, most of the conversations I had with him on m\- 
visits to Mount McGregor were carried on by means of the pencil and 
pad that he always carried with him. These written accounts of his 
feelings during his last days have been carefully ])reserved by me, and 
are of inestimable value as showing the manner in which he realized 
and faced his end. 

His life at ^Nlount McGregor was necessarily very monotonous. 
AAHien he was not engaged on his "Memoirs" in his little office adjoin- 
ing his bedroom, he would sit for hours on the porch, reading the 



GENERAL GRANT'S LAST DAYS 



65 



newspapers or watching the crowds of sight-seers who were constantly 
alxnit the cottage. By an nnwritlen law of instinctive conrtesy it was 
understood by the visitors that they should not approach too near or 
in other ways manifest any unseemly curiositw The General became 
verv appreciative of this display of good feeling and respect for him, 
and often regretted that lie could not make a suitable return. Many 
as they passed the ]H)rch would lift their hats in salutation, whereupon 
the General would (|uietly and feelingly acknowledge the attention. 
These salutations, however, became so frequent that it was impossible 
to rcsjiond to them, it being generally understood that to do ,so would 
tire him unnecessarily. ( )n one occasion a lady remoxed her bonnet 
and waved it in a most deferential manner. This action so appealed to 
the natural gallantry of the General that he duly acknowledged the 
courtesv by rising from his chair and lifting his own hat by way of 
graceful recognition. 

When otit-of-doors, he alwaxs wore a high "stove-jjiiJe" hat. Ijeing 
particular in this way to prevent neuralgic attacks, to which he seemed 
at the time to be s|)ecially liable. For the same reason, also, a light silk 
scarf was wrap])ed around his neck, and sometimes, when in a draft, 
he would luck one corner of the covering under the rim of his hat, in 
order to protect himself more effectually. His steadily increasing 
weakness did not allow him to walk much. Tic venttu^ed only short 




opyrighl, F, A 



The temporary tomb on Riverside Drive in which the body of 

General Grant was placed until it was transferred 

to the mausoleum 



66 GENERAL GRANT'S LAST DAYS 

distances, and then always with an attendant. Une time in strolhng to 
a summer-house on the edge o£ the mountain to enjoy the fine view, 
he became so much exhausted that fears were entertained of a serious 
collapse. This experience had a very depressing effect upon his si)irits, 
and necessitated the use of a so-called Bath-chair, in which afterward 
he was wheeled about the grounds. On one occasion while his colored 
servant Harrison was propelling him, he humorously remarked that 
often before he had had a much faster horse, Init pr()])ably no safer 
one, as he was certain that the animal could not run away uphill. 

When I visited the General for the tirst time at Mount McGregor, 
it was quite evident that he had grown weaker and that he had lost 
considerably in weight. This was in part due to his difficulty in swal- 
lowing even the licpiid food which, for obx^ious reasons, was his only 
form of nourishment. 

His voice at this time, although not entirely gone, was guttural, of 
harsh tone, and very indistinct, except when he used it in a deliberate 
and studied whisper. Even then he could not always make himself 
understood. He became much worrietl over this affliction, and was 
constantly hoping that it would grow less under the influence of the 
changed climate. Tn order to give every opportunity for improvement 
in such direction, he carefully avoided speaking as much as possilile, 
and would often write on his pad in answering questions rather than 
otherwise run risk of a set-back. This practice made his remarks 
necessarily short, but always to the point. This was particularly evi- 
dent in his replies to my questions, and showed his anxiety on many 
points and his desire to obtain all the necessary information regarding 
his physical condition at the time. His written answers, however, giv- 
ing as they do his exact exiiressions, now .add a ])athos to tlie situation 
which no recollection of conversations could make possible. In no 
better way can this be illustrated than b\- the reproduction of my notes 
taken when fresh in mind and 1)\- the transcription of his own com- 
ments from his still-i)reser\-ed handwriting: 

"How have you been doing. General?" 

"I am having a pretty tough time. Doctor, although 1 do not suffer 
so much actual pain." 

"What is the special difficulty?" 

"My trottl)le is in getting my breath." 

"How do you sleep?" 

"Pretty well, although rarely more than an hour at a time." 



GENERAL GRANT'S LAST DAYS 67 

In Luxlcr to give him suine eiicuuragcnieiil, 1 remarked that he 
looked stronger, notwithstanding his suttering. 

To this lie made answer: "1 am growing lighter every day, al- 
though 1 ha\e increased the amuiuit of food. 1 have gained a little in 
strength since 1 came here." 

"The air is doing you good, then?" 

"1 cannot at this moment get a breatli through my nostrils." 

"By and by 1 hope you will improve in lliat respect. W hat you 
need is rest 1 til sleep in this quiet place." 

"For a few^ nights past, indeed e\er since we have been here, the 
Doctor [DouglasJ has given me live minims [meaning a small dose of 
a solution of morphine] on retiring, and as much more an hour or two 
later. Last night, however, he reduced the second dose to three, and 1 
slept well." 

Then, to turn the subject somewhat, 1 asked him hdw he was pro- 
gressing with his book. 

"1 have dictated only twenty pages since we lia\e been liere, and 
written out with my own hand about as much more. 1 have no con- 
nected account now to w rite. Uccasionalh' I see something that sue- 
gests a few remarks." 

Thus learning that lie had been tempted to use his voice beyond its 
strength, 1 protested accordingly, assuring him that absolute rest gave 
him a chance in the future. 

To this he significant]}- and pathelicall}- replied: "I do not suppose 
I will ever have my voice back again al all strong." Alas! this sad 
prediction was more than veritied as he progressed toward the end. 

The following day, June 24th, although he had passed a wear\- and 
restless night in his chair, he appeared for a time at least more cheer- 
ful, and was even inclined to be playfully humorous during the exami- 
nation and treatment of his throat. Finding some difhcultv with the 
insufticient light in his room, and desiring a larger spatula for depress- 
ing his tongue, I asketl if such an instrument was at hand. Fie then 
took his pad, after vainly attempting to speak, and with a faint smile 
wrote the following" : 

'T said if you want anything larger in the way of a spatula, — is 
that what you call it?— I saw^ a man behind the house here a few days 
ago filling a ditch with a hoe, and I think it can be borrowed." 

The long, sleepless nights were his special dread. There remained 
only one way to secure rest, and that was by morphine. He fully 



68 GENERAL GRANT'S LAST DAYS 

appreciated the danger of becoiiiiug addicted to the use of the drug, 
and fought manfully against any apparent necessity for increasing the 
dose. At one time, on assuring him that there was no special danger 
in that direction, he wrote; "1 have such a horror of becoming addicted 
to It that I suppose that serves as a protection."" He was certainly 
consistent in his determination, and never suggested the use of the 
drug on his own behalf. In fact, he very willingly at times submitted 
to a decreased dose when he felt more than ordinarily comfortable on 
retiring. He could usually anticipate a bad night, and seldom failed to 
prove that he had been right in so doing. 

At one time he wrote: "1 feel that i shall have a restless, sleepless 
night. I sutler no great amount of pain, but 1 do not feel satisfied in 
any one position. 1 do nut think 1 have closed my eyes in sleep since 
about eight." it was then midnight. Still, he was at that time willing 
to brave the discomfort rather than take an anodyne when not com- 
pelled to do so by actual pain. 

On another occasiuu, after having a sleepless night without mor- 
phine, he became much exhausted, and during my call on him in the 
morning he thus expressed himself: "I have thirteen fearful hours 
before me before I can expect relief. 1 have had nearly two hours with 
scarcely animation enough to draw my breath."" 

His mental and physical suffering at such times could scarcely be 
imagined, and his fortitude in enduring the infliction could hardly be 
over-estimated. The ditificulty was due partly to general weakness, 
but mostly to the mechanical impediment of the persistent accumula- 
tion of mucus secretion in his obstructed throat, and his inalnlity to 
relieve himself l)y unaided efforts. 

During the mornings, he preferred to rest in his room and recover 
from his sleepless nights. Often, to make up for lost hours during the 
night, he would remain dozing by spells in his chair until near lunch- 
time. The afternoon, however, would be spent in his wicker chair on 
the porch. His chief occupation at such times was the perusal of the 
papers that had arrived by the afternoon express, and so absorbed did 
he become in this occupation that he would scarcely raise his eyes for 
an hour at a time. 

On one occasion when a larger crowd than usual had assembled, 
he appeared quite responsive to their sympathy, and taking his ever- 
ready pad he wrote : "The people are very considerate. But to pass my 
time pleasantly, I should like to be able to talk to them." 



GENERAL GRAiNT'S LAST DAYS 



69 



While handing- tiie shp to me. his attention was directed to a little 
three- vear-old girl who was standing in front of the crowd, and (|nite 
near the ])orch. The child smiled and waved her hand toward the 
General, wherenpon he heckoned her in come to him. When lilted on 
the ])latform of the i)orch, she a])])eare(l to be bewildered, bnt soon 




I-roiii .1 pltotoyraph I.J I'.uh llr..,. 

Scene at tlie dedicationjjf the Grant niausolenni. Apriljjj. i8g7 



recovered her smile when the General ^•ery tenderly shook her hand 
and lovingly smoothed her cnrly head. 

In marked contrast to man_\- e\-idences of a kind interest toward 
him, was the forced visit of an entire stranger, who insisted upon 
making a ])ublic exhil)ition of his rudeness. The intruder appeared to 
dodge from the file of people near the ])orch. and hastily miming up 
the steps, seized the GeneraTs hand as it was resting on the arm of his 
chair, and shaking it violently, prepared to enter into conversation, as 



70 GENERAL GRANT'S LAST DAYS 

if he were an old friend. The General was more than snrprised at this 
nnin\ited familiarity, and gazing' at him with marked sternness, wrote: 
"My physicians positively forhid me to converse." Snch a rehuke, 
however, had no eiTect upon the stranger, who smilingly said that he 
would do all the talking himself, and the General could merely be the 
listener. Thereu])on the General quietly withdrew within-doors, leav- 
ing his discomfited \-isitor to bear the l)runt of a well-deserved snub. 
It was an extreme case, treated in a direct and severe manner. The 
intrusion was certainly keenly felt l)}- the victim, else such a measure 
would not have been adopted; for the General was always careful to 
treat kindly, courteously, and considerately all with whom he came in 
contact. 

^^'hen his personal friends visited him, he always received them 
with marked cordiality, and then more than ever regretted the loss of 
his \r)ice. When deputations arrived to pav him respect and to express 
their ci indolence, he willingly received them, though under other cir- 
cumstances his phvsical disability would have been an argument 
ag'ainst any over-exertion. This \\'as the case when a party of Mexi- 
cans called to assure him of their kind wishes and their hope of his 
ultimate recoverv. Although much in need of rest at the time, he 
insisted upon receiving them, and wrote an elaborate response to their 
address. 

Some of his callers were odd-looking personages. One of these 
wore very long hair, and in other respects was somewhat eccentric in 
his appearance. Tn response to a question, the General wrote: 

"Mr. N. is a Texan, but liefore he went to Texas, in 1S44, he was 
a great admirer of Mr. Clav. Tn the contest of '44 between Clay 
and Polk, he took a vow never to cut his hair until Mr. Clay was 
elected President. He made up his mind long ago never to cut his hair 
again." 

Tn one of mv conversations, while sitting beside him on tHe porch, 
T suggested that music might afford him some diversion : but, to my 
surprise, he shook his head, and wrote: 

"T do not know one tune from another. One time in traveling, 
when there were brass bands everywhere, and all playing the same 
tune, 'PTail to the Chief," I remarked at last, with greatest innocence, 
that T thought T had heard that tune before." 

This frank adnu'ssion did not imply a personal dislike of nuisic, but 
rather a lack of appreciation of its beauties ; for on a previous occasion 



GENERAL GRANT'S LAST DAYS 71 

I recollect his saying that the playing of spirited and patriotic airs had 
a very marked effect tipon men hoth hefore and after a battle. 

Apparently, also, he had no special liking for flowers, as he never 
cared to have them in his room, especially objecting to their odor. 

Notwithstanding his show of almost cheerfulness at times, he 
seemingly never lost sight of the final outcome of his disease. It was 
merely a question of time. In spite of every encotn-agement to the 
contrary, the idea was too firmly fixed to be shaken. After one of the 
many references to the subject, he significantly wrote iiis own sad 
comment : 

"It is postponing the final event. A great numljer of my acquain- 
tances, who were well when the papers commenced announcing that I 
was dying, are now in their graves. They were neither old nor infirm 
people either. I am ready now to go at any time. 1 know there is 
nothing but suft'ering for me while I do live." 

"But," remarked 1, "the newspa])ers should not be the highest au- 
thorities for such a prognostication." To this he wrote: 

"The has been killing me oft' for a year and a half. 1 f it does 

not change, it will get right in time. The bulletins do not pretend to 

discuss the point. The does it ; it is the work of the correspondent 

with The ."' 

This paper, however, was not the onl\- one to blame in this regard, 
as on the slightest provocation all of the dailies vied with one another 
in predicting his condition as most alarming; while not a few would 
repeatedl}- announce that he was dying when there was no possible 
occasion for such reports. He referred to the particular paper in 
question as it was the one he always read, and was pulilished at the 
time by one of his personal friends. 

As my visits to Mount McGregor were limited to such occasions 
when consultations with Dr. Douglas appeared necessarv. T made the 
most of such opportunities by being with the patient as much as pos- 
sible and by giving him all the comfort in m\- power. There was everv 
evidenc(^that he apjireciated such a motive, and would look forward to 
my coming with e\'ident pleasure. Jnst before I took the train on Jnly 
1 8th, he seemed quite anxious to know when I would come again, 
expressing the desire that I should certainly be with liini "at the last," 
as he expressed it. I assured him as unconcernedlv as I could that T 
would surely be within call, little thinking at the time that the final 
summons would come so soon afterward. 



72 



GENERAL GRANT'S LAST DAYS 



On shaking his hand as he sat in his usual position in his room, he 
pleasantly asked me in writing if he could do anything for me. I at 
once bethought myself to obtain his autograph. On his attempting to 
write with a pencil on his pad. I suggested that it be done with pen and 
ink, and brotight an inkstand, pen, and lilank visiting-card to his chair. 




Autograph wntlcn tdr Dr. Sliraily 

lie then wrote his name and handed me the card. This was probably 
his last signature [see above J, as thereafter he evidently became too 
ill to make any attempt in that direction. 

The day after T left [Mount AIcGregor was a cooler and more re- 
freshing one for the ])atient than many of the preceding ones, and he 
was consequenth- in relativelv Itetter condition. He took his favorite 








Indorsement on the back of a check drawn by Tlie 
Century Co. to the order of General Grant 

Tht check was dated July ij. 18S5, ten days l)efore General Grant's death. General 
Frederick D. Grant remembers that this was the last signature his 
father wrote with ink. Obviously it is not so firm as the 
autograph (above) written for Dr. Shrady. 



GENERAL GRANT'S LAST DAYS ji 

position on the porch, and read the morning papers as usual. In tlie 
latter jjart of the afternoon he expressed a desire to be wheeled in his 
Bath-chair Id the eastern lookout, which commanded a swee])ing view 
of the valley from Saratoga Lake far northward between the Adiron- 
dacks and the Green Mountains. He was drawn thither by HarrisdU, 
his faithful colored valet, and was accomi)anied by Dr. Douglas, his 
son "l-'red," and the "old guard" Willelts. The tri]) was an enjoyable 
one at first, but the jiatient had evidently miscalculated his strength. 

It must be recalled that although stimulated in s])irit l)y the fresh 
air and the inspiring surroundings, he was in realitv in a verv weak 
condition. The nourishment, such as it was, had been insufticieiit to 
minister to his wants. l'"r(jm being a man who before his illness 
weighed nearly 200 pounds, he was eventually reduced to almost half 
that weight. Still, on this occasion the General enjovcd the scene to his 
heart's content. It was his favorite site for observation. There was a 
sweep to the scene that ga\-e due ajipreciation of his love for the broad 
view ill ibis as well as in other matters. It was noticed that nn the 
return tri]) his general feebleness became sirikingK manifest. He was 
anxious to get home as soon as possible, b'rom being animated, he 
became suddenly limp and listless. The return was a short cut bv 
another |)ath, involving the necessity of the General's alighting and 
mounting four or five ste])s, up which the chair was lifted after him. 
When he arrived at the cottage, he took to his sleei)ing-chair for the 
night, and had his usual restless endeavor to compose himself. At 
10 I'. M. he fell into a sleep of exhaustion, and fortunately remained at 
rest for full_\- eight hours. Although this rest would have been aniplv 
recujK-rative for a ])erson in health who might have been ever so much 
fatigued, it failed to prtiduce such effect u])on the General. On awak- 
ening in the morning, he appeared weaker than e\-er, and exhausted 
nature lapsed into listless dozing for most of the dav. 

The weather also was very uncomfortable. During the (\-a\ the 
atmosphere was sultry, inert, and depressing, the thermometer rang- 
ing as high as 85' F. Although the condition of the patient was the 
occasion of grave anxiety to the family, the General himself was 
apparently unaware of it. He at one time insisted on tremblinglv 
walking from one room to the other during the readjustment of the 
pillows on his chair, and even minutely directed that all his manuscri]its 
and literary effects should be duly cared for and safelv packed, as all 
his work was finished in such directions. Alas ! all work was soon to 



74 GENERAL GRANT'S LAST DAYS 

be done forever ! If he realized this, at least no one must know it. He 
was the silent man even under the gaze of death. 

As dusk ga\e \va}- to darkness, a sinking spell appeared as the 
result of increasing weakness. A temporary unconsciousness showed 
itself, and then a troubled, fretful sleep. During one of his wakeful 
spells, Mrs. Grant asked the Rev. Dr. Newman to offer a prayer. The 
General looked appreciativelv at the preacher, and apparently in his 
mute wav understood the solemn significance of the ceremony. It was 
the last prayer to fall on the ears of the one for whom the earnest sup- 
plication was being made. The clergyman knelt beside the sick chair, 
and the family stood around it with bowed heads, ^^'hen it was over, 
the General looked with a kindly smile to his friend and feelily and 
feelinglv returned the gentle hand-grasp. 

The remainder of the night was one of grave anxiety. Dr. Doug- 
las, always hopeful before, was at last convinced that the inevitable end 
was near. Accordingly, telegrams were hastily sent for the con- 
sultants to come at once to ?\Iount ^McGregor l)y the first morning 
train. 

It was thus, with Professor Sands, I was next to meet our jiatient. 
We arrived bv special train on the afternoon of Julv Jjd [1885]. At 
that time the General was still conscious, and was seated in the 
cushioned chair he had occupied continuously, night and day, fi>r 
months. However, at his own request he was soon removed to his bed, 
and the following morning he qviietly passed away. The peace that he 
had so often wished for others came to him at last in the truer and 
more enduring sense. 

It was the calm death he had hoped for, a gentle and gradual fall- 
ing to slec]). The wearw anxious night had passed, the rays of the 
morning sun stole quietly into the death-chamber; but at last there was 
another morning for him, another light, glorious, infinite, immortal. 



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